In The Moonlight
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: Let's imagine what things might have been like for the man who became the twisted clown if his life had taken a different path after he was chased from Rusty Westchester's Traveling Circus. What if he came upon a massacre in action, what if he became the caretaker of the sole survivor and pledged that no harm would ever come to her again? Pre-Freakshow Twisty/OC.
1. Chapter One

In The Moonlight

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Let's imagine what things might have been like for the man who became the twisted clown if his life had taken a different path after he was chased from Rusty Westchester's Traveling Circus. What if he came upon a massacre in action, what if he became the caretaker of the sole survivor and pledged that no harm would ever come to her again? I think that they could have a very nice life together, that they could be friends and possibly fall in love…but what would happen if the one who killed her family came back into her life?

Disclaimer: I own no part of the _AHS: Freak Show_ universe. I am simply borrowing one of its characters for this work of fanfiction. The only things that belong to me are my OC, Mae Collins, and her family, as well as the persona of a killer who calls himself Flick the Clown. That name is taken from the character in the 1928 film _Laugh, Clown, Laugh_, which stars Lon Chaney, whose character shared a few features with Twisty, particularly the three tufts of hair, the white costume and white greasepaint.

I would also like to mention that the title for this story is taken from the lyrics of "Tonight You Belong to Me", as performed by Patience and Prudence. The actual song itself was first recorded in 1926, but the version that I have in mind, which coincidently was the opening and ending song of the first season of _AHS_ was recorded in 1956. I imagine it as a nice song for the two main interests in this story. Yes, it can have a bit of a creepy vibe (especially when viewed in _AHS_), but I like it anyway. There is also a version that is performed by Eddie Vedder and Cat Power that is very pretty, but anyhoo, moving on…..

Author's Note: I hope that you will all bear with me as I try to bring the pre-_AHS: Freakshow_ Twisty, or as I'll call him, John, to life in print in his words. There is very little source material available, so I'll be making up a good deal of it as I go along. I would ask you to also bear in mind that I know very little about Florida, so please don't expect me to know much about either Rood or Jupiter, aside from what can be found on Wikipedia or by looking at a map. Therefore, I will adjust the topography as needed to suit the story.

Just So You Know: This work of fanfiction is rated **M** for graphic violence, including descriptions of murder, torture and rape, mild to strong profanities, and eventual citrus, both limes and lemons.

Chapter One

John's POV

Rood, FL

Late spring, 1947

Goodness, but my feet were tired. I would have liked to have stopped, to rest my feet and have a drink of water, but I still had a long ways to go before I got back to my home. It was starting to get late, though, and I didn't like to walk in the dark. I was kind of scared of the dark, I knew that there could be bad things in the dark, and I wanted to stop and make a fire, but I supposed that I should go on a little bit longer.

Golly, I was hungry. It would have been nice to have something hot to fill my belly with, but all that I had was an apple to eat once I stopped to have a rest. I had my canteen that I'd filled with water at a stream a ways back, but water wasn't going to make me fill all that full, not with nothing but an apple to eat. I knew I oughtn't to grouch about it; at least I had something to eat, but land sakes my belly was rumbling something fierce.

There was a house in the distance, with an old red pickup truck sitting in the driveway and a tire swing hanging from a tree in front. The house was sitting back a fair distance from the road, a white house with a grey roof, and I reckoned that the folks that lived there must have been rich, because the house had two levels to it. The lights were glowing in the windows and I reckoned that the people inside were probably just about to sit down to dinner. I thought of what they might have been eating and my belly started growling at me as I imagined fried chicken with gravy on the mashed potatoes. That would be a right good dinner, but I wasn't one who'd ever begged for food and I wasn't going to start now.

I was passing through on the far side of the place, with the notion to make my way into the woods and find a spot to bed down for the night when I heard a sound that made me stop in my tracks. I turned to look at the house and wondered if the jitters were getting to me when I heard it again, a sound that would have made the hair stand up on my neck, if I'd had any there. That was a scream, a lady had screamed, and it sounded like someone was hurting her awfully bad.

For a minute or two, all that I could do was stand in one place, with my heart beating something fierce, all scared to pieces. I wanted to run away, I wanted to hide, but then she screamed again and I knew that I'd be an awful coward if I didn't try to help her. I didn't know why she was caterwauling the way that she was, but I reckoned that she wouldn't be carrying on that way unless she was in a heap of trouble.

I slung my bag across my body and ran toward the house, taking care to stay out of the light, so if there was a robber inside he wouldn't see me coming. I felt like a sneak, creeping up to the first window that I came to and having a look inside, but that was the only way that I could find out what was happening. The first things that I saw was the nice furniture settled around the fireplace…but there, in front of the fireplace, was something that shouldn't have been there.

The fireplace was surrounded by bricks, to keep the wooden floor from catching fire, and on the wooden floor there was a braided rug, and on that braided rug there was a boy with blood coming out of his chest and his throat. I gulped and put one hand over my mouth when I saw the way that his blood was pooled up under his body, then made a kind of crying sound as quiet as I could when I saw the way that his mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to say something.

There were two chairs in the sitting room and there was a man in one of them and a woman in the other. I reckoned that they must have been the father and the mother. The father had the same bloody places that the boy had and it looked like someone had done their best to cave in his head as well. The mother…oh, sweet Lord…her head was barely sitting on her neck.

There was a couch sitting against the wall across the ways from the chairs and there was a black doctor's case sitting on the floor off to the side that had F-L-I-C-K T-H-E C-L-O-W-N on it. I knew my letters, but the only word that I was certain of was clown. There was a woman on that couch, I reckoned that she was the one that had screamed. There was a man on top of her, doing something odd between her legs and though I didn't know what he was doing, I knew that it was wrong.

He wasn't trying to get her to hush, the way that I would have thought a bad man would. It seemed to me that he liked to hear her crying, that he liked the way that she was screaming and begging him to stop hurting her. It made me mad, what he was doing, what he had done, and I was all set to make my way inside and stop him…but then I saw the knife that he was holding in his hand.

I didn't know what I ought to do. I wanted to help that poor lady, but how was I supposed to do that when I didn't have anything to fight with? I suppose that I could have hit him, but I didn't know how to fight. A man with a knife wouldn't be scared of me, not even if I was bigger than him, especially when he saw that I had been crying.

The bad man shouted a bad word really loud and stabbed that knife into the couch, right above the lady's head, real close to her eyes. The window was open to let the spring breeze into the house and I could hear the lady whimpering, the sort of sound that someone might make after they'd already been crying for a long time, and the bad man laughed as he moved off of her. That was a sound that sent an awful feeling up and down my backbone, one that sounded like a record that was scratched all mixed up with a witch cackling.

"What shall we do now, my succulent little cunt?" the bad man, the bad _clown_ asked the lady in that scary voice of his. "I think that we should involve Mae in the last part of our game, wouldn't you agree, Josephine?"

The lady called Josephine tried to speak, and I covered my mouth as another gulp tried to make its way out. She had a gag in her mouth, one that kept her from talking, but did not stop her from screaming or from whimpering, and there was barbed wire on each side of it, wrapping it around her head. She raised her head up and tried to say something and I felt a couple of tears slide down my cheeks as I watched the wire cut into her face.

The bad man dashed out of the room, taking the stairs off to the side a couple at a time. The lady on the couch started to cry, taking big breaths of air as she did and making a pained face. I thought that maybe this was my chance to help her, but before I could move I saw the bad man coming back down the stairs, dragging something…or someone…down behind him.

Oh, no, it was another lady. I could see that her dress was torn and she had blood all over her. The bad man was dragging her down the steps by her foot and her head knocked against each and every step. It seemed like that ought to have killed her, or at least knocked her out, but she was awake and she was whimpering just like the lady on the couch.

"Here she is, Josephine!" the clown said in that sing a song voice that felt like icy water on my backbone. "Now we'll really have fun, won't we, girls?"

He dragged the other lady into the sitting room and threw her down on the floor. I would have thought that she'd holler when she hit the floor, but she didn't make a sound. She scurried across the floor on her hands and knees, something that made that bad man cackle like a witch, and took hold of the lady on the couch's hand. She leaned over and whispered something in the lady's ear, and I reckon that the fact that neither one of them was paying him any mind made the clown a little mad.

"What do you think you're doing, bitch?" he shouted, moving quick as a flash to grab hold of the lady on the floor by her hair. "You can't play until I say you can play! There are rules that have to be followed, otherwise you're going to have to pay the consequences, and I don't think that you want to do that, do you….?"

The bad man screamed in pain as the lady on the couch kicked him where it counts. He fell to his knees, holding onto that spot, and the lady on the sofa tore the gag out of her mouth, sending blood flying every which way. "Run, Mae!" she hollered. "Don't worry about me…save yourself while you can!"

Oh, no…oh, no…oh, no…that made the bad man very angry. The lady that was on the floor paused for just a second, crying, and then she started to run into the other room. I saw the clown grab the knife, I almost threw up when he stabbed it into the chest of the lady on the couch, but I didn't let myself because I had to follow the lady that had ran. She made her way through a dark room and into the kitchen. There was a screen door there and she opened it wide and left it open, but she didn't run out of it.

There was another door in the kitchen, one that went into a small room with shelves, where the family kept their canned goods, and there was another door in the floor of that room, one that I reckoned led down into the cellar. The lady went into that tiny room and I knew that she meant to hide down in the cellar. I just hoped that the bad man didn't find her.

After a few minutes had passed, the bad man came tearing into the kitchen, hollering the lady's name. He was covered in blood, well, in more blood than he'd already been wearing and the knife in his hand was dripping red onto the floor. He saw the open door and ran through it, but he'd stopped his caterwauling. I reckoned that he meant to sneak up on the lady called Mae and I was glad that she'd thought to hide in the cellar, but what if he thought to look there?

He ran all over the place, looking in the barn and all over the yard and I was glad that there was a big, tall flower bush close to the house that I could hide behind. I didn't know how long he looked for her, because I wasn't wearing a watch, but he finally went back into the house to fetch his black bag and then climbed into that pickup truck in the driveway and went roaring on his way.

I waited for some time after he had left, because I was sure that he would come back, but after a while I knew that he was really gone. I made my way through the cellar door and looked around for the lady, using the flashlight that I carried around in my sack. There were shelves on all sides on the room, save for the one that had the stairs that led down into the cellar and one off to the left when you climbed down those stairs. That was where the coal chute was, and when I couldn't find her anywhere else, I opened up the door and looked inside.

Yep, there she was, hanging onto the top of that chute with all of her might. I reckoned that she must have been awfully strong to hang on the way that she was. I reckoned that she would have hung on for as long as she would have had to, until she felt safe, but how could she ever feel safe after what that bad man had done to her and her family?

I shined my light on her and said very softly, so as not to scare her. "You can come down now, Miss. I won't hurt you none, cross my heart and hope to die."

She didn't act like she'd heard me, and I didn't want to scare her, but we needed to leave, just in case the bad man decided to come back. I knew that I was going to have to get her out of there, so I reached up and, as gently as I could, as if I was touching a baby bird, I reached up and grabbed hold on her ankle. Boy, howdy, she came to life then, screaming and carrying-on. There was a part of me that said that I ought to leave her alone, but I knew that she needed help, so I took hold of both of her legs and pulled her out of that coal chute just as gentle as could be.

"No, oh, God, please, don't hurt me!" she yelled, as I picked her up, and then she fainted, as if she had no more energy left, and it was no wonder that she didn't, what with all that she'd been through.

It was not easy, making my way up those cellar steps with her in my arms, but in the end I made it. I didn't want to go back into that house, but there were some things that I needed if I was going to help her. I laid her on the kitchen floor, taking care not to jostle her too much, and found a loaf of bread that I tucked into my bag, along with a needle tied up in a hanky and a spool of thread that I'd taken from a sewing box that had been open on the dining room table, right beside a dress that the mother might have been mending. With these things I brought along a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a first aid kit that I found in a kitchen drawer, and golly, but my bag was full after that.

Once I had everything gathered, I picked her up and we made our way out of the house and as quickly as we could across the yard and into the trees. The lady called Mae was still asleep and we had a ways to go before we could stop for the night. I thought real hard as we walked along, doing my best to remember how the Fat Lady at the circus had taught me to make a stitch. I hated the idea of sticking a needle into Mae, but from the look of things she was going to need me to do that lots of times. I just hoped that I could help her, I hoped that I wouldn't hurt her. She'd already had enough of that…too much of that…and I'd do all that I could to keep her from ever being hurt again.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

John's POV

I'd never given much thought to being like the Strong Man at the circus. For one thing, I was pretty sure that I wouldn't want to wear that getup that he wore, something that was like what Tarzan might wear. For another thing, I didn't want to go around with a big handlebar mustache on my face. I was kind of scared of shaving, I was afraid that I would cut myself, but I didn't want a mustache. But now, as I toted a full bag of goods, as well as a lady named Mae, I would have liked to have had his strength.

I was huffing and puffing by the time that we reached a spot to make camp, but I didn't feel like it was safe for us to stop until we'd gone a good piece into the woods. I would have liked to have had something softer than the ground to lay her on, but there was nothing in my bag that would help me with that. I laid her down as gently as I could and started to clear a piece of the ground for a fire. I'd seen her shiver as I put her down and knew that I'd have to get some heat close to her, so that she wouldn't catch cold.

I used the edge of a rock to scrape the ground bare, and then used rocks to surround the spot where I was going to build the fire. I started with small sticks, kindling, and used the matches that I always carried in my bag to light one of the old sheets of newspaper that I'd found a couple of days before. I guess that it was a good thing that I carried a lot of stuff with me, otherwise me and Mae would have been awfully cold once the night really settled in.

It wasn't too long before the newspaper fired up the kindling and I started placing bigger sticks onto the fire. My goodness, but that felt good. I held my hands out and warmed them up, then moved over to Mae. She groaned a bit when I picked her up, but I knew that she'd be a lot better off close to the fire, so I told her that I was sorry and moved her as close as I could to the warmth of the fire. It seemed to calm her somewhat and I knew that I'd done what was best. Now it was time to do what I hated to think about, but I also knew that it had to be done just the same.

I took a deep breath and hoped that it would help to soothe my jangled nerves, but I still felt all jumpy inside. I took the first aid kit out of my bag, along with the needle, the thread and the rubbing alcohol. I needed some cloth, a lot more than the tiny piece of cotton that came with the kit, so I used the scissors that were in the metal box to cut a piece off of her dress. It was already in bad shape anyway and I reckoned that she wouldn't be mad at me for cutting it up, not when I was doing that so that I could clean her up.

It would have been best if I'd had some water to wash her up with, but the only water that I had was what was in my canteen, and we needed that for drinking, not for washing. I rinsed my hands off with alcohol first, flinching when it hit the little cuts that I had on my palms. After that I soaked a rag with alcohol and looked down at the woman lying on the ground.

"I'm awfully sorry, Miss," I whispered. "I hate to hurt you, but this is the only way that I can help you."

She made an awful sound when I started washing her wounds, something that was kind of like a whimper, and kind of like a scream. It was enough to make me cry a little and I wanted to stop, but I knew that I couldn't. It took five rags to get her all cleaned up and the places where the bad man had cut her had started to bleed again. I had to cut some more cloth off of her dress, so that I could place them on her wounds and keep the blood from running everywhere, and once that was done I washed off the needle with alcohol, and then threaded it so that I could stitch her up.

I remembered the way that the Fat Lady had taught me to make a stitch, but that had been in cloth, not in a person. I didn't want to stick that needle in Mae, but if I didn't her wounds would get a lot worse, not better. I knew that I had to do it. I took the cloth from her dress off of one of the cuts, the biggest one, and I took another deep breath, and then wiped away my tears, and once I was sure that I was calm enough, I started sewing up that cut, one stitch at a time.

The worst one was a cut that was beneath Mae's breast. I hadn't even known that it was there at first, but the blood from the wound had finally seeped through her dress and shown me where it was. It didn't make a lick of sense to me, why someone would cut a person there, but when you thought about it, none of this made any sense. I couldn't understand why anyone would do anything that the bad man had done. It was wrong, it was evil, it was the sort of things that he ought to burn for, but that wasn't for me to say.

She shifted back and forth in her sleep and made a snuffling sound as I sewed, but she didn't wake up. I made a snuffling sound, same as she did, and wiped the tears out of my eyes, and then I made stitch after stitch, until all the cuts were closed up. I did the same thing to every wound the bad man had made, five of them in all, and then I cleaned them with alcohol and bandaged them. I was glad that all of that was taken care of, but there was still something that had to be done.

I did not know what the bad man was doing when he was between the lady on the sofa's legs, but I was pretty sure that it was very wicked. Looking at Mae, I was pretty sure that he had done that to her as well, because there was blood on the insides of her legs. I didn't know what he had done, but blood meant that she'd been hurt by it, so it had to be bad. Lord, I wished that I knew more than I did. Maybe if I knew more about it, I'd know how to help her. I figured that all that I could do was wash the blood off of her legs, 'cause it wasn't a good idea to leave it there where it would irritate her skin.

I really wished that I had more water to use, but I didn't want to take a chance on us not having enough to drink. I grabbed a clean piece of the cloth from her dress and soaked it with rubbing alcohol. It didn't sit right with me to lift the hem of her dress; it felt like I was doing something bad to her, but how was I going to wash the blood off of her thighs if I didn't lift up her dress?

I cleaned as I raised the dress, telling her the whole while that I was sorry. Lord have mercy, but there was so much blood to clean up. I had to wet a second cloth as I worked, and then I saw something that made my face feel like it was on fire. She wasn't wearing any kind of underpants. I didn't know what kind of drawers ladies wore, but I reckoned that they wore something underneath their dresses. Maybe the bad man had taken them off of her, that made sense, given what he must have done to her. There was a part of me that said that I ought to leave her be, that she didn't need me bothering her any further, but the bugs had started coming out, and I could picture what they'd do to her if I left any blood on her legs, so I closed my eyes and cleaned her up as best as I could.

I talked to her as I fixed her up, just in case she woke up and got scared. I told her happy stories of my time at Rusty's. I made sure to tell her good stories, not any that had to do with that unhappy business that had made me run away. That had made me sad, and scared, to begin with, but when I thought about it now it made me mad. That was why I told her about the good times instead, about the children and how they'd laughed, about hiding a coin behind their ears and making them balloon animals. I missed being a good clown, but it seemed like those days were behind me now and I'd never get them back.

"C'mon, Miss, you need to wake up and have a drink of water," I said softly, propping her up on my arm, so that the water wouldn't choke her. I was pretty sure that she wouldn't have the strength to sit up on her own just yet, so I would have to hold her up. I just hoped that I wouldn't scare her by holding on to her. "Take a drink for me, please, Miss Mae?"

Her eyes fluttered open when I said her name and though she did jump back a hair, she didn't scream. I held the canteen up to her lips and tipped it so that she could get a drink, but took care not to give her too much. "That's good, Miss," I said, watching her take one small sip, followed by a second and a third. "Now, I've got an apple here in my bag, one that's both sweet and tart, and half of it is yours."

She made a face and shook her head, like she'd just caught wind of something that was downright disgusting. I reckoned that it was because I'd mentioned the apple, not because she didn't like the look of me, 'cause she'd already had a look at me and hadn't seemed to take offense. I suppose that she wasn't hungry. I suppose that maybe I ought to have made her take at least one bite, but I didn't want to be mean. Besides which, she was already starting to go back to sleep.

I laid her down on the ground and flinched when she made a whimpering sound as I tried to settle her close to the fire. She needed something that would help with her pain and I remembered that there was a fuel station close to where we were. I'd been in there a time or two, whenever I'd had a few empty bottles to trade with, for a Coca-Cola and a moon pie, and if I was remembering things right they had aspirin packets behind the counter. She needed medicine to help take her pain away. There wasn't any in the first aid kit, so I was going to have to fetch some from the fuel station.

I hated to leave her by herself, but there wasn't anything that I could do about that, not if I was going to help her. I took a couple of drinks out of the canteen, and then built up the fire, so that it wouldn't die while I was gone and once that was finished I set out. I wondered what she would think if she woke up all by herself. I didn't know if she was scared of the dark, but if she hadn't been before, I bet she was now. I just hoped that she didn't get scared when she realized that she was in a strange place. I suppose that it wouldn't have been much better to wake up to my mug, but at least I could have given her an idea about where she was and why she was there.

Lordy, but I hated to be walking around at night, especially when I was all set to rob a joint. Why, I'd never stolen anything in my life and here I was fixing to bust the glass on the door of the fuel station and rip them off. I tried to tell myself that I was doing it for a good reason, but would that carry any weight in the long run? Maybe I could pay them back some day, bring in a whole box of bottles, all cleaned up and shiny, and when they offered me coins or goods I could tell them that there was no charge for them.

I walked fast and made it to the fuel station in record time. I had found a brick 'round the back of the place and threw it through the door, covering my ears at the godawful noise that it made. There were a few food items on the shelves, but I paid them no mind. It was bad enough that I was going to take anything that I hadn't paid for; I wasn't going to make it any worse than it already was.

Yep, there they were, right behind the counter, just like I remembered them. There were a few different kinds of medicine back behind the cash register, but the only one that I paid any mind to were the ones with "Bayer" on the package. I grabbed one of the packets and could feel that there were two tablets inside. I thought about it for a moment, and then grabbed five of the packets. I wasn't sure how much they cost, but I reckoned that I was going to owe the owner of the fuel station quite a few bottles for what I was taking…not to mention that glass that I'd busted out of the door.

I was relieved to see that it was getting close to dawn when I made my way out of the building. I always liked the daytime better than the night, but I reckoned that I better hightail it out of there before the owner came to open up for the day. These fuel stations tended to open pretty early in the day, and it wouldn't be a good idea for me to get caught red-handed and leave Mae all alone in a place that was not familiar to her to fend for herself.

I made it out of the station and was almost to the place where the woods began when I noticed a clothesline on the side of a house that was close to the forest. What drew my attention was a dress, a dark colored dress with what looked like white flowers on it. Mae needed a new dress, her other one had been torn and cut to pieces. I knew that it was bad of me to take that dress, but there was no way for me to ask for it that wouldn't wind up with me getting myself into a fix. I felt really bad when I took it off of the clothesline and added that to my list of sins.

The sun was starting to peek around as I made my way through the woods. I found Mae just where I'd left her, looking almost peaceful as she slept. I hunkered down beside her and felt her forehead. Well, that was good; she was as cool as a cucumber. That meant that the aspirin could wait until she woke up. I placed the packets of pills in my sack, along with my flashlight. I added a couple of sticks to the fire and laid down on the ground, close to Mae, but not in a way that would scare her if she woke up before I did. Land sakes, but I was tired and I was asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

John's POV

There was nothing nicer than waking up to the sound of the birds chirping in the trees. The air was a little bit chilly, but I could smell rain on the wind and that would do a world of good for me back home. I knew that I needed to get back home so I could weed my garden. I imagined that all of those weeds had sprung up and were trying to take things over while I was away. Well, all of that would soon be mended, once we made it back…..

Huh, something was making an awfully strange noise, the sort that just didn't go along with a late spring morning. I turned over, groaning as a night spent on the hard forest floor made itself known in my muscles and my joints. Oh, Mae was the one who was making that racket, something that was a cross between a groan and a whimper and she was looking at me like she was waiting for me to hurt her in some way…oh, Lord…she must have thought that I was a bad man, like that fellow who'd been in her home.

"Good morning, Miss," I said, sitting up as quickly as my bones would allow, which I hoped would calm her somewhat. "I reckon that you must be wondering who I am."

Uh-oh, she didn't look any calmer than she had. "My name is John, Miss Mae, and the reason that you're here with me is because….."

"I know why I'm here," she said, talking so softly that I almost couldn't make out her words. "I wish that I could forget what happened, but I remember everything."

I tried to think of something to say that would help her, but I couldn't think of one single thing that would be of any use. I thought and thought, but nothing would come to me…and then I remembered the aspirins that I'd taken from that fuel station. She had to have been hurting a good deal and those pills would help to ease her pain somewhat. I brought out one of the packets and tore it opened, then handed her the two tablets, along with my canteen.

"I'm really sorry for what that bad man did to your family," I told her, watching as she looked at the mess that had been made of her dress, part of it by me and hoping that she wouldn't be mad at me. "I'm sorry about your dress, Miss, but I had to cut some of it for bandages. I got you a new dress, one that is as good as new. Here's some aspirin for you, Miss. I'd tell you to chew 'em, so that they'd help you faster, but they taste just godawful when you do that, so you might want to swallow 'em instead."

Oh, lordy, she was crying. It wasn't the loud, gulping crying that someone did right after you hurt their feelings. This was the sort of sobbing that a person did when they were trying to be quiet, so that they didn't catch anyone's attention. I knew that kind of crying, I did a lot of it when I was at Rusty's, when they'd call me a simpleton and make fun of me. Heck, I'd been doing that kind of crying my whole life. I'd always had someone poking fun at me, or at Mama. I'd learned to cry in private, 'cause the other boys always called me a sissy when they caught me crying and I'd always wished that there'd been someone there to make me feel better, but I was sure that this lady didn't want someone like me patting her on the back to make her feel better.

"Aw, please don't cry, Miss," I said, trying to use as soft of a voice as I could, with the hope that she might take comfort from that, though it was more than likely that she wouldn't. "I know that you have every reason to cry, that you probably ought to do so, but I don't carry a handkerchief, and if you keep crying we'll have to cut some of your dress off for you to use instead."

Lord, but I was a simpleton, wasn't I? I should have just let her cry, I should have kept my mouth shut and let her get all of those hateful, ugly, hurtful things out of her, but I'd opened my mouth and said something dumb instead. It was going to be there when she looked at me, I was going to see how stupid I was in her eyes, but when she raised her head, when she looked at me, I didn't see what I thought would be there. She looked a little befuddled and still very teary, but she wasn't looking at me like I was an idiot.

"You're a clown," she said softly, taking in my clothing and what was left of the paint that I'd put on my face a few days ago. I knew that she was thinking about the bad man that had hurt her, I knew that she was remembering that he'd been dressed up as a clown, and I hoped that I could show her that I was nothing like that bad man.

"I used to be a clown, but not anymore," I said, remembering the old days for just a minute. "And I was a good clown too, not a bad man who dressed up like a clown so that he could hurt people."

She looked at me for a while and then she held out her hand. "Could I still have those aspirins, John? I've got a really bad headache."

It was no wonder that she did, after that bad man had dragged her down the stairs. That was an injury that I'd found after I went to sleep, that cut on the back of her head. I only found it after I remembered that her head had bounced off of each and every one of those stairs in her home. She'd had a dilly of a gash, one that had taken four stitches to close, and I reckoned that it had to have been throbbing something awful.

"Well, sure you can," I said, putting the pills in her hand, then handing her the canteen once she'd placed them in her mouth. I watched her swallow those pills with a swig of water, and then I realized I was staring at her and that was a rude thing to do. I looked around at the camp, thinking of what would have to be done before we left, and then I looked back at her and was surprised to see that she was looking at me, instead of keeping her eyes off of me the way that most people did.

"Well, Miss Mae, I'm sorry to tell you this, but we've got a fair piece to go before we get to my home, so I reckon that we better start off that way pretty soon."

I saw her stiffen up a bit, more than likely because I was taking her to my home and that was a strange place. I was afraid that she was going to want to go back to her own home and that would be a bad idea, what with that killer still on the loose and her family still there, all cut up the way that they were. I wasn't going to argue with her, I wasn't going to try to force her to go with me, but I hoped that she would let me help her.

"You promise that you won't hurt me?" she asked, looking past me at the trees, talking to me in a soft voice, so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

I wondered if she thought that I would hurt her because I was dressed up like a clown. I suppose that someone would think that way if they'd been hurt by a different clown, or even if they'd just been scared by one. After that, all clowns would be scary, wouldn't they? It didn't matter that I'd been a good clown, 'cause that bad man had made clowns scary to her. I hated him for that; I hated him for what he'd done. It wasn't right, it was evil, he was evil and now he'd made clowns evil for her.

"Aw, Miss Mae, I won't ever hurt you, you have my word on that, cross my heart and hope to die."

Her eyes were still very sad, but she almost smiled. "I know that I wouldn't be here without you," she said. "I shouldn't doubt you at all…but after what happened, I can't help it. I should thank you and tell you how grateful I am, but I can't do that now. You understand, don't you?"

Most people thought that I was too dumb to understand anything, but I was pretty sure that she wasn't one of them. I knew that sometimes you needed to think on things, to get them straight before you talked about them with someone else. That was what she was asking me, not if I was smart enough to know what she meant.

"You take all the time that you need, Miss Mae. I ain't going nowhere, so we can always talk about it later, if you want to. Right now you just rest and I'll take care of everything else."

She nodded, and then laid back on the ground, staring up into the roof made by the trees as I straightened up the camp and packed my bag. She was fast asleep by the time that I lifted her up into my arms and started on the way home. I thought what a pretty little thing she was, and how nice a lady she was. I wondered if she would stay, after she'd healed. I wondered if she would let me keep her safe for a long, long, time. I wondered if she would be my friend. It would be nice to have a friend, I'd never had one before, and she'd be a nice friend to have.

Mae's POV

I almost screamed when I woke up, but thankfully I managed to choke it down before it made its way out of me. I was high up in the air, it felt like I might fall, but then I realized that John was carrying me. It was a little frightening, to be so close to a man, but then I reminded myself that John was not the one who'd hurt me and my family, he was the one who'd rescued me.

But why had he been there to do so? I had so many questions, so many things were a blur, but I didn't want to talk about them. I wished that I could forget the whole thing, I wished that I wouldn't remember what I did, but there was no blocking out the screams, the smells, the feel of him and what he'd done to me and to the others. I was able to escape it all when I slept, but not until I'd relived that day over and over again.

I needed a bath. I was smelly and sticky and I needed to wash him off of me. Part of my smell was a reminder of him and I needed to scrub myself, to wash him off of me and out of me. I ached everywhere, I was in pain, but even worse than the cuts from his knife was the deep agony of where he'd been, what he'd taken, where he'd had no right to be. I wanted to scream, I wanted to keep screaming until I lost my voice, until I lost my mind, but I didn't dare let it out, because I feared that it was the only thing holding me together.

John was a clown, well, he'd been a clown at one time, and it wasn't hard to imagine the sort of clown he'd been. He had kind eyes and an easy smile, so children would have been drawn to him, in spite of the fact that he would have towered over all of them. He was a sweet giant; his hands were gentle, in spite of the fact that they were so large. I ought to have been terrified by him, but he actually calmed me and I imagined that he would have had the same effect on the children that he'd entertained.

I was a mess. My dress was torn and cut and covered with blood. I wasn't wearing anything under my dress and that was mortifying. I should have made John put me down on my feet, I should have walked to wherever it was that we were going, but I knew that I couldn't walk. I was so weak after what had happened, I'd lost a lot of blood and I had to admit to myself that I needed help. John had to have known that I didn't have any undergarments on, after all, he'd cleaned me, he'd stitched me up, so he had to have seen that I was bare beneath my dress, but God bless him, he pretended that he hadn't noticed.

Maybe that sort of thing was something that he didn't even think about. Maybe he didn't really look at me in the way that a man would look at a woman. I mean, I was certain that he looked at me as a woman, but maybe the question of attraction wouldn't even be raised. God knows that I wouldn't be thinking about that sort of thing for a long time, if ever and maybe John just saw me as a woman who'd needed his help.

It seemed like we'd been walking forever when we finally reached John's home. It was in a clearing in the woods, far away from anyone who might bother us. I'd never imagined that someone would make a school bus into their home, but it was obvious that he'd taken care to make it as welcoming as he could. It was kind of him, to have brought me here, and I immediately felt safe and guarded.

There was a shower of sorts off a little ways from the bus, a metal ring that held a tarp that would encircle a bather. Inside the ring was a rope that was attached to a bucket, which when pulled would dump water down onto the one who'd soaped up inside. It was a very smart way for a person to stay clean and I was anxious to make use of it, provided that John had plenty of water available.

The grass had been scraped away a few feet from the front of the bus and the bare ground had been framed with rocks. Inside the bare earth was another ring of rocks, where a fire could be made, and there was a tall hobby horse situated over that ring. A pot was hanging from the hobby horse and my stomach growled as I imagined the meals that could be made in that pot.

John carried me inside of the bus and I looked around in wonder. Who would have thought that such a small space could feel so homey? There was a bench on the left, almost as soon as we entered the bus, standing opposite of the workplace that he'd set up on the other side. There was a bookshelf that had a couple of books on it, but was otherwise covered with things that he'd obviously gathered here and there because they were pretty to look at.

He walked to the back of the bus, where the bed dominated the space, and started to lower me down. My heart lurched with fear for just a moment, but I relaxed somewhat when he smiled at me. It was a beam that didn't just show itself on his mouth, but in his eyes as well. I could tell that he wanted to reassure me, and also that he wasn't certain whether or not he had the ability to do so. There was innocence there, and kindness, and I knew that he wouldn't hurt me.

"You lay here and rest while I get a fire going and then I'll fix us a good dinner," he said, pulling a blanket over me and plumping the sides of the pillow that I was laying on. "Is there anything that I can do for you before I get started?"

He had done so much for me already. It didn't matter how much time passed and what I did in that time, I'd never be able to repay him for giving me my life. I wanted to tell him that, I wanted to smile at him, but I could not find the words, I couldn't make my mouth cooperate and in the end I simply shook my head.

Thankfully, that seemed to be enough for him. He rose to his feet and made his way out of the bus. I rolled over onto my side and watched him go, groaning as my body protested the action. I thought of the shower outside, I imagined soaping my body over and over again, I thought of finally being clean, even as I doubted that I could ever truly be clean again. I imagined the food that John would cook, I thought of how nice it would be to have a full belly, and as I imagined all of this, I fell asleep once more, but not before I relived the nightmare of what had happened all over again.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Mae's POV

It was much darker when I woke up and at first I was scared to death because I didn't know where I was, but a quick look around showed me that I was inside a renovated school bus and everything clicked back into place in my mind. I hadn't noticed the candle holders that had been drilled into the walls when we first arrived, but now that the candles were lit I saw that they lent a nice ambiance to the place. I also appreciated the screens that had been attached to the outside of the bus, which let in a nice breeze and freshened the air.

I threw off the blanket and sat up, stretching my arms over my head as I yawned…an action which caused me to bite back a yelp as pain radiated all throughout my body. I knew that it was going to be hellish to stand up, what with every muscle that was going to go into doing so, but I couldn't stay on that mattress forever. For one thing, I was hungry, for another, I needed some more aspirin, and lastly, I really needed to pee.

Oh, Lord…it was going to be embarrassing to ask John where the facilities were. I suppose that was odd of me to be self-conscious about that sort of thing; given the events of the past couple of days, but it was something that was still firmly in place within me. We had gone through a lot together, we were bound to go through much more, but he was still more or less a stranger to me and a strange man to boot.

It took a good deal of grit and determination, not to mention a whole lot of smothered groans, but in the end I managed to make it to my feet. It probably would have rated as a rather puny accomplishment in most folks' eyes, but I was proud of myself. I took my time to get my bearings, and then made my way down and out of the bus, taking care to close the door behind me.

It was odd that I hadn't noticed the small metal table and chairs that were just off to the side of the fire pit. The table looked like the sort that had been scavenged from a junkyard, but John had taken the time to sand off the majority of the rust and had painted it a pretty robin's egg blue. The chairs were metal as well and they'd received the same treatment as the table, only they'd been painted a creamy shade of yellow.

I walked over to the fire pit and glanced into the cookpot, breathing deeply of the Campbell's Alphabet Soup that was boiling inside of it. Goodness, I loved Alphabet Soup, it was pretty good for canned soup and my stomach growled loudly in response to the familiar scent. I remembered that John had brought along a loaf of bread from my house, which would pair well with the soup, it was just a shame that we didn't have any butter to go with it.

I wondered where John was. I looked around the immediate area, but he was nowhere to be found, and after I'd turned 'round several times, searching for him and not finding him, I began to panic. Granted, he was a stranger to me, but he was also familiar. I knew that he had saved me and I was depending on him to continue to do so for a little while, at least until I'd healed. I was starting to breathe harder, there was a lump building in my throat, and then I heard him calling my name and a huge wave of relief washed over me.

I hadn't noticed it when we arrived, but there was a little garden in front of the bus. There were stakes in the ground, each marked with what was planted there. John was carefully weeding between the rows of potatoes, squash, onions and watermelon. There were also a couple of old tires that held tomato plants and I thought of how well he'd eat, once he was able to harvest everything that he'd planted.

"Did you have a good rest, Miss Mae?" John asked, pulling the last couple weeds out of his garden.

"Yes, I did, John," I replied, curling my toes into the loose soil as I spoke, marveling at how good it felt, when most everything else felt so bad. "And you don't have to call me 'Miss Mae', just Mae will be fine."

I couldn't see for certain, but I thought that he might have been blushing. "Pardon me…Mae…I didn't want to be too forward."

I suppose that I could have reminded him that it was nearly impossible for him to be too forward with me after all that we'd been through, but I knew that it would have embarrassed him further to do so. "That's alright," I said, "It just shows that you are a gentleman, and there's no need to apologize for that. Now then, I hate to be crude, but I need to use the facilities….."

It was my turn to blush. I hadn't meant to blurt the words out, but now that they'd left my mouth they sounded much worse than when I'd simply been thinking them. I knew that I was being foolish, after all, everyone had to use the facilities at one time or another, but for some reason I felt ashamed for asking a very normal, not to mention necessary, question.

"Well it's no wonder that you need to, what with all of the time that's passed," he replied, hoisting himself off of the ground and wiping the soil off of his gloved hands. "You know where the shower is, don't you? Well, the necessary is just a little ways beyond that, and there are two stumps on the side of it. One of the stumps has a wash pan on it; the other has a can of water and a bar of soap. I don't have a towel for washing up, so I just wring my hands on the way back up here."

I looked off in the direction of the shower, then beyond, where the facilities were and took note of how dark it was in the woods. I did the math in my head, calculating how long it would take me to see to my business and realized that it would be very dark once I finished. I knew that it didn't matter whether or not I was afraid, I had to go into the woods, unless I wanted to have pee running down my legs, I just wished that it wasn't quite so dark.

"Here you are, Miss…well, that is, Mae," John said, reaching out to hand me a flashlight. "I really ought to look into getting a lantern or two, but this works just fine."

I didn't know whether he'd seen the fear on my face, or if he was simply being polite, either way I was grateful to him. "Thank you, John. I'd hate to take a tumble on my way out there."

He shook his head from side to side. "You be careful and watch your step," he said, and then turned his head toward the fire pit. "Pardon me, Miss Mae, but I best go check on supper before it burns."

I didn't remind him that he didn't need to call me "Miss". I had a feeling that it was hardwired into him to do so, it proved that he had a sense of decorum, and that was nice. He reminded me of Papa in that way, and of my little brother, Ernest, as well, though Ernie hadn't always remembered his manners as well as my mother and us girls would have liked…..

"Shut up!" I hissed to myself as tears welled up in my eyes and I choked back a sob. I clicked on the flashlight and started to make my way to the facilities. I held the light in one hand and wiped my eyes with the other, feeling the claws of hysteria threatening to consume me from within. I kept telling myself that I could have a good cry once I was done peeing, then I could rinse my eyes with water and hope that John wouldn't see that I'd broken down. I just had to hold it together for a little longer and then I could let go for just a moment, that would be nice, wouldn't it?

The facilities reminded me of the one that I'd used at my grandparent's house when I was a child. It was a tiny wooden building, with a crescent moon carved into the door. It was odd to me that there was no odor that greeted me as I approached. That was one thing that I remembered about my grandparents' outhouse, the smell had hit you while you were still a good distance away and the state of the inside had made you want to gag.

It was obvious that the same could not be said for this facility. It was clean on the inside and it did not smell bad at all. I swept the flashlight all around the inside and saw that John had tied sprigs of lavender and eucalyptus in all four corners of the outhouse. There was a wooden contraption that was attached to the wall that held a roll of sanitary paper and every surface was carefully sanded, so it would be nearly impossible for a person to end up with a splinter in their posterior.

I placed the flashlight under one arm and hitched my dress up, then carefully took a seat and started to pee. Oh, dear God, it burned so bad. There was a pain down there that made me want to scream. I bit down on my lip as the tears started to stream down my face, I bit so hard that I tasted blood, and I didn't loosen the hold that I had on my lip until a minute or two had passed since I'd stopped peeing.

I leaned my head against the side of the outhouse and let every last tear make its way down my face. I knew that it would worry John when he saw that I'd been crying, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. I wondered how long it would hurt; I wondered if I'd ever fully heal. I wondered if my parents and my brother would be happy to know that I'd survived. I wondered why my sister had given up her life to save mine.

There were so many questions and so few answers, but I couldn't let myself get caught up in all of that. I'd had my cry and that would have to do for the time being. There would be time to work through everything one step at a time. I just had to keep going, the way that Josie would have wanted me to when she died in my place, because John had saved me, because that son of a bitch hadn't defeated me. He had hurt me, he had devastated my world, but he hadn't conquered me. I was going to keep going, I was going to keep living, no matter how much it hurt to do so.

John's POV

It was early in the morning, the sun had just started to color the sky, but Mrs. Overmire was already inside her store and came to unlock the door for me as soon as she saw me waiting outside. She was the one person who was always willing to trade with me and I hoped that I could do a good deal of bartering this morning, more than I'd ever done with her in the past.

"Good morning, John," she said as she opened the door to let me in. "You're up with the sun this morning, aren't you?"

"Good morning, ma'am," I said, taking care not to jiggle the boxes that I was carrying as I made my way inside. "I've a good deal of trading to do with you this morning."

Mrs. Overmire made her way behind the counter and waited for me to show her my goods. The bottom box was filled with a dozen milk bottles, all of them washed and dried, with no spots marring any of them. The top box held one of my mother's prized possessions, a crystal tray, and on top of that, a crystal decanter, that's what Mae had called it, and two matching crystal tumblers…again, that's what Mae had said they were.

I'd thought first that I would trade with Mrs. Overmire using Mama's wedding ring, but Mae had said that I ought to keep that. I hadn't known my Mama when she'd been married and from what I'd heard my Daddy was a lowdown, cheating snake, but if Mae thought that I ought to keep that ring, I reckoned that I'd do what she said. I wanted to do everything that I could to make her happy, on account of how she needed a little cheering up after crying her heart out last night.

"My goodness, you must have quite a few items that you need, to bring in this much to barter with," Mrs. Overmire said, looking over the items that I'd brought in. "Where would you like to begin?"

I'd tucked the list that Mae had written out in with the milk bottles and I handed it to Mrs. Overmire. I'd looked it over myself before I'd started out and hadn't been able to read most of it, but Mae had been nice enough to go over each item with me, and she hadn't laughed at me for being so dumb, not even once.

_Brassiere, size 36_

_Panties, size 28 waist_

_Girdle with Garters to fit 28" waist_

_Stockings_

_Pumps, size 7_

_Nightgown, see above sizes_

_Hair Brush_

_Toothbrush_

_Menstrual Belt with Pads_

That last item was something that made me blush when Mae read it to me, though I wasn't rightly sure why it did. There was something in my mind, just out of sight, that told me that it ought to embarrass me, though I couldn't recall why it ought to do so.

Mrs. Overmire read through the list with her eyebrows raised, but if she thought that there was something odd about that list, she didn't mention it. She went and collected all of the items and put them in the box that had held Mama's crystal, and each thing was all wrapped up in tissue paper.

"There's all of that," she said, "What else can I get for you?"

I was hesitant to add to my bill, there was already so much in the box, but there were more things that I needed. "I was thinking that I'd like a bag made of tough plastic, a box of Ivory Snow, some of that Vel dishwashing soap, five cans of that Alphabet Soup, a loaf of Wonder bread, a tub of Oleo, processed cheese and a jar of that Skippy peanut butter. Do I have enough to cover that?"

Mrs. Overmire smiled at me, which was something that other folks rarely did. "You've got more than enough, John," she said, moving from behind the counter to fetch everything that I'd asked for. "You'll even have a little left over once everything is tallied up."

I headed out of Mrs. Overmire's store with a box that was heavy with goods and imagined how pleased Mae would be when she saw everything that I'd brought with me. I had a plan for how we could keep the stuff that needed a fridge cool. I would put some rocks in that plastic bag to weigh it down, and then I'd put the Oleo and the cheese inside and close it with a length of thin rope. After it was closed, I'd sink it in the creek, and then everything would stay cool.

I'd told my plan to Mae and she'd liked it fine. As a matter of fact, she seemed to think that I was right clever for thinking up that contraption, and she'd seemed to like the necessary as well, she'd admired it for how neat and clean it was. I could tell that she appreciated a good many things and I was pretty sure that she was going to like staying in my home. The only thing that I could think of that would have to be fixed was that I'd have to make a soft cushion for the bench if I was going to sleep there and let Mae have my bed. That wooden bench was hard on my joints and not nearly long enough to fit me, but I reckoned that I could buy the goods to make a cushion with the credit that I had left with Mrs. Overmire.

Yep, things were looking mighty rosy for me and Mae…and speaking of Mae, look at how pretty she looked sitting out in front of my home, watching me come through the trees.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

A man sits alone in his one room apartment. There is only one light in the place, a bare bulb that hangs down in the center of the room, casting a dim light on the dingy surroundings. Cockroaches skitter along the baseboards and across the countertops where empty takeout containers are piled haphazardly. The bed is unmade and smells sour. The floor is sticky in spots from droplets of Coca-Cola that have carelessly been dribbled here and there. All in all, the place is a dump, a health hazard, a disgusting mess, except for the table and chair, where the man sits working busily with a pair of scissors, cutting an article out of the newspaper.

_Rood Family Massacred By Maniac!_

_May 21st, 1947_

_The small town of Rood is in shock this morning as details come to light of the gruesome murders of Wallace Collins, age 45, his wife of twenty-five years, Vera, age 43, their daughter, Josephine, age 23 and son, Ernest, age 12. Their middle child, daughter Mae, age 20, remains lost and assumed dead. The family had been dead for at least a week before they were discovered this morning by the mailman, who became curious after he'd packed their mailbox full to the brim. One would have believed that the paperboy might have made the same discovery, but the task fell to poor Horace Dalrymple instead. The local milkman, Jack Oliver, was spared from having to witness the macabre scene as well, because the Collins family preferred to buy milk from local farmer, Alden Weems, in spite of the fact that he charges two cents more per quart. Who could be responsible for this outrage? Beware all readers, those vagrants and tramps that knock on your back door, looking for scraps or chores. Put your trust solely in those you know and do not open your door to a stranger._

The man who called himself Flick the Clown sighed and shook his head as he applied flour paste to the back of the carefully clipped article and stuck it to one of the pages in his scrapbook. It was a sad state of affairs when he had to depend upon the rube who wrote for the local paper for his press, but he knew that he could not judge too harshly. One generally had to start small before they hit the big times, and that was what the show in Rood had been. One day, they'd be talking about him in the big newspapers, but for now it was nice to simply see his deeds getting a little recognition.

For a while he'd wondered if anyone was going to say anything about the show that he'd put on. Every day he'd check the paper, and every day there was nothing to be seen. He was beginning to get angry, quarrelsome and hot-tempered; until he'd made such a fuss that he'd lost his job. That had only enraged him to the point that he'd started menacing people in the stairwell of his building. That behavior had lost him the apartment that he'd had and now he was living in a place that was a shithole.

Who knows how far he might have sunk if they hadn't finally found the remnants of the show that he'd put on for the Collins family. He did not handle it well when he felt that he was being ignored, he tended to act out, but thankfully they'd finally found the bodies that he'd left behind…but what about the other daughter?

She was the one that he'd wanted to die, but the prettier woman had forced his hand and earned her death in the place of the plainer one. He hadn't wanted to stop her heart…well; he _had_, but not in place of the other one. There had been a schedule that he'd meant to follow, but she'd messed everything up. The prettiest sister had told the other one to run, she'd sparked his temper by doing so and he'd had no choice but to do her before the other one.

It bothered him that the plain one had gotten away. What if she went to the cops with what she knew about him? What if she had already spilled everything that she knew? How hard would it be for those flatfooted bastards to find him? He didn't want to go back to the big house, especially if he ended up waiting in line to take a seat on Old Sparky. Sure, the headlines would be great, but there were lots of shows that needed to be put on before that happened. Therefore, that bitch better keep her damned mouth shut…at least until he found her and shut her up for good.

John's POV

I was dreaming about ice cream, homemade peach ice cream, like my Grandma had made when I was just a tot. Of course, I didn't know that it was a dream at first. I thought that I was a youngster again, sitting on my Grandma's back stoop with a big bowl of ice cream resting on my legs. I could taste every spoonful of that peach ice cream as it went into my mouth. There'd never been anything that had tasted as good up until then and nothing had tasted as good since. Yes, sirree, that was mighty good eating…and then something crashed and scared me half to death.

It took me a little while to figure out where I was, then it all came to me in a rush. There was a storm outside, with sheets of rain and thunder and lightning. That was what had crashed, the thunder, and I kind of laughed to myself when I felt my heart hammering out a beat in my chest. I reckoned that it was kind of silly for a man to get scared by a rumble in the sky, but I figured that I couldn't be blamed for being afraid of something that startled me out of a deep sleep.

I turned over, trying the whole while to keep from falling off of that bench and onto the floor of the bus, and was all set to go back to sleep when I heard a sound that made me stop and look to the back of the bus. I'd been hoping that Mae would sleep through the storm, and if she didn't, I hoped that it wouldn't scare her too much, but that whimpering sound made me think that she was awake and that she was scared half to death.

I threw back my covers and got off of my bench, feeling around in the dark as I stood up until I found the flashlight. I would have lit the candles on the wall, but I knew that Mae didn't like for them to be lit this late in the night. She had an idea about people looking in at us if they were lit late at night and I didn't want to say or do anything that was going to upset her even more.

"It's alright, Mae," I said as I made my way to the back of the bus. "It's just a thunderstorm, that's all, nothing to be scared of."

I was careful not to shine the flashlight in her eyes as I got close to her. She was sitting up on the mattress, with the bedclothes bunched up all around her, and my goodness, she was shaking like she'd caught cold. I felt awfully sorry for her, knowing that she was so terribly afraid, and I wanted to sit beside her and give her a hug to comfort her, but I was afraid that I might scare her even worse if I did, so I didn't.

"That thunder made a boom that sounded like it was right outside, didn't it?" I asked, sitting down on the floor beside the mattress. "I reckon that I just about jumped out of my skin when I heard it."

She reached her hand out in my direction and for a little bit I thought that she wanted the flashlight, but she shook her head when I tried to hand it to her. That's when it dawned on me that she wanted me to hold her hand. I was a mite bit nervous about taking hold of her hand in mine, it seemed like something that I wasn't supposed to do, but after a spell I reckoned that it would be okay for me to hold onto her that way, if that was what she wanted me to do.

Land sakes, her hand was tiny. It was soft too and felt like her bones were as fine and delicate as those of an itty bitty bird. I took care to hold her hand gently, I didn't want to squeeze too hard and hurt her. She linked her fingers through mine and held on tight, looking 'round the bus like she was worried that the walls might cave in on us at any moment.

I tried to think of something that I could say that might soothe her, because nothing that I'd come up with had done any good, but before I could say a single word it sounded like the sky split open right outside the bus and Mae just about jumped on my lap. Well, I didn't know what to do about that, you could have knocked me over with a feather, but then I saw that she was trembling all over and I did what I thought was best. I went ahead and scooped her up and put her on my lap.

At first she was as still and as stiff as a body could be, and I was sure that I'd made an awful mistake, but then she slowly placed her arms around my neck and gave me a squeeze that was so gentle that I almost didn't feel it. I squeezed her back, taking care with her, just like I always did, and then I just held her and stroked her hair. Her hair wasn't quite as soft as her skin was, but my goodness, it sure did smell good.

We stayed that way for a while, and then I noticed that she was yawning more and more and her eyelids were getting heavy, so I started to move her back onto the bed. Her eyes popped open as soon as I let go of her and she grabbed hold of my sleeve before I could move away from her.

"Stay with me, John," she said, turning loose of my sleeve and smoothing at it while she talked. "I'm scared of the storm and you make me feel safe when you hold me."

Well, it was awfully hard to curl up on that bench and try to get a good night's sleep and it sure was nice to hold her in my arms, but was it right for me to lay down beside her on the bed? "Are you sure, Mae?" I asked, looking down at the empty space that would put me so close to her. "I don't want to do something that I oughtn't to do….."

She looked up at me and smiled, then clicked off the flashlight, which was lying on the floor beside me. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't want you here," she said, pulling on my hand, until I was lying on the bed beside her. "And don't worry that you're doing something wrong. It would only be wrong if it was something that hurt or bothered one of us. Does this hurt or bother you, John?"

I smiled at her, though she probably couldn't see me, on account of it being dark and all. "Not even a tiny bit, Mae," I said, and wondered where I ought to put my arm, which was a problem that she figured out by wrapping it around her waist.

"Me neither," she said sleepily. "Now, let's get some shut-eye…'night, John."

"'Night Mae…sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite"

Mae's POV

It had been three weeks since my world have irrevocably changed and I could hardly believe how well I was handling everything. My outer wounds had healed, leaving puckered pink lines behind to remind me of how close I'd come to death that night, as if I needed anyone or anything to remind me. Thankfully my monthly had come right when it was supposed to, so I didn't have to worry anymore about having that filth's bastard in my womb. It was one less thing to plague my mind, though there was still some left that would torment me if I allowed it to do so, so I endeavored to keep my mind occupied with other things.

I had taken over the majority of the cooking and I actually found it soothing to prepare our meals. Breakfast was generally a peanut butter sandwich, lunch was usually some Alphabet Soup and a grilled cheese, but we had a lot more to choose from for dinner. The garden was producing in generous amounts, and some nights John would move the cookpot off of the fire and set up this contraption that he'd made that had a cast-iron skillet in the middle of three metal prongs that raised the pan about six inches above the fire. I fried squash in that pan, when John brought home some lard and cornmeal. I'd fry potatoes by themselves, or sometimes I'd add in onion and fry them together. Both meals paired well with tomatoes and we'd have watermelon for dessert.

Of course, sometimes John kept the cookpot on the fire and I'd make potato soup, after he'd brought me butter and milk. There were also the times when I'd make us up a stew with the tomatoes and potatoes, after he'd bring us a pound of ground beef. All in all, we ate very well, and it surprised me to discover that I was such a good cook, considering that I hadn't had much practice before I'd come to live with John.

When I wasn't cooking in that pot we were warming water in it for the shower or to wash clothes. I washed our towel, our rag and what clothing needed cleansing, starting with the least dirty items first, in a basin using a scrub board. John would run them through the wringer, or, as it was more commonly known, the mangler, and then he would hang everything on a thin rope that he'd strung between two trees.

My sister and I had always helped Mama with the wash, so this was a chore that came easily to me, though I was not accustomed to having a man around to help me. My father had worked from sunup 'til sundown and he'd always been bushed when he got home. My brother Ernie had done the manly jobs that were required while Papa was at work, like taking out the trash and opening jars for us womenfolk. Therefore, I was unaccustomed to being around a man who shared in all of the chores with me, and I have to say that it was very nice.

It was also surprisingly nice to share a sleeping space with John. It was something that we'd started the night of that storm and we'd just kept doing it. I never would have believed that I would feel comfortable sleeping in a man's arms, but not only did I feel comfortable, I knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep without John beside me. He'd become such a fixture in my life, such an essential part of each day, but there was one thing that was bugging me, one thing that we had to talk about. I'd been wondering how I ought to bring up the subject, I'd mulled it over for the past day and a half, and in the end I decided that it was best to just go ahead and say what needed to be said.

We were working in the garden, him weeding and me picking. "John, has Mrs. Overmire ever asked about some of the items that you've traded for, the ones that obviously aren't for you?"

He sat back on his heels and wiped the sweat off of his brow. "Not that I can recollect," he replied, turning to smile at me as I handed him the canteen that I'd filled with cool creek water. "We mostly visit about the weather and her cat, Mr. Mouser."

Well, she wasn't saying anything to him, but it wasn't difficult to imagine her wagging her chin to all of her other customers. "I was thinking that you might want to mention me the next time you go in…and when you do, tell her that I'm your wife and my name is Marilyn."

For several moments he didn't say a thing and I was busy studying the tomato plants so I didn't have to look at him. I wasn't sure how he was going to react to this plan of action, I was bound to have shocked him with what I'd said, but it was the only thing that I could think up. I wasn't leaving John, that was out of the question, but people were bound to start talking, if they weren't already doing so, and I needed us to have a story in place that would keep us respectable in the eyes of the community…that, and I needed anonymity from who I truly was, so that monster would never catch wind of me.

"But…well, your name is Mae, not Marilyn," he said, reaching up to put his hand on my arm, so that I would turn and look at him.

"I'll always be Mae to you," I replied, kneeling down next to him. "But for safety's sake, I'll be Marilyn to everyone else, okay?"

He kind of nodded, then blushed and looked down at his hands. "Aw, shucks, Mae. No one'd ever believe that you were my wife."

"Why is that?" I asked, genuinely bewildered by what he'd said and by the fact that he wouldn't look in my eyes as he spoke to me. I actually had to reach over and put my hand on his face and turn him toward me. "Why wouldn't they believe you, John?"

He continued to look at me, but I could tell that he didn't want to. "Well, you're a pretty lady, you're funny and nice, you're a good cook and the best friend that anyone could ask for. Then there's me, an old throwaway clown, a simpleton and….."

"Stop right there," I said in a stern tone that made his eyes widen. "I'm glad that you think all of those things about me, John, you're such a sweet man to say all of that…but don't you dare call yourself a simpleton. You are the kindest man that I've ever known. You're a gentleman, you're funny, you're handsome, you're clever, you're my best friend…and you saved my life. I don't know what other people have told you, but everything that I've told you is true."

His bottom lip was quivering, but he was smiling, so I knew that we would be okay. I knew that I would have to explain things to him slowly, but that was okay. Some people expected you to tell them something quickly, only for you to come to find out that they hadn't heard half of what you'd said. I liked John's way of learning something new; I just wished that I wasn't the only one who could see how special he truly was.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Mae's POV

_Josie and I were drinking milkshakes at Ollie's in town, strawberry for her, chocolate for me. She was smitten with Bobby Loomis, the soda jerk, and liked to sit at the counter and flirt with him. Bobby had spent three years in the Army, jumping out of planes to fight the Nazis, and he was a shadow of the boy that he'd been before he'd gone to war._

_Bobby had always smiled when he was younger, now it was a rarity to see a grin on his face, but Josie knew just what to say and do to make the corner of his mouth lift up. It was just as plain as day that he was taken with my sister and I wondered how long it would take for him to work up the courage to ask her for a date….._

That had been about two weeks before everyone had been taken away from me. I wondered if Bobby Loomis mourned for my sister. It had been a month since she'd been killed, who knows how long since the massacre had been discovered. Did he cry for her…had he cried for her? Did anyone in Rood wonder where I was? Were they searching for me or had they decided that I was dead?

There was a part of me that told me that I ought to go back home, that I needed to let everyone know that I'd survived, but there was a bigger part of me that said that I should never go back. I did not know whether or not the murderer was still looking for me, but I felt that it was best that I stay away from my hometown. Besides which, there were too many memories of my family in Rood, there were too many things that would hurt me and keep me from getting on with my life. It was best to stay in Jupiter, with John, where I could start over and get my life back on track.

I thought that it would be best for me to get a job. There was only so much that I could do back at the bus and it would be nice to bring in a steady income and help out with the household. I had halfway expected John to argue with me and insist that the man was the provider, but surprisingly he had been supportive of my idea.

I lingered outside of the pharmacy, thinking of Bobby Loomis, the soda jerk back home and wondering if they would hire a woman to do that sort of work. In the end I decided to try somewhere else. Undoubtedly, they already had someone who did that job, and it probably wouldn't offer enough hours to make the trip into town worthwhile.

There was a little store on the outskirts of town where John did all of his trading and it seemed like the most logical choice, to approach Mrs. Overmire and ask her for a job, but I imagined that she was the only employee of a place that small. That was why I decided on Tuttle's Grocery in the end. I'd never worked as a cashier before, but I reckoned that I could learn the ins and outs pretty quickly and they were looking for help, so I wouldn't have to beg for a job.

I straightened the skirt of my dress before I walked through the door and checked the state of my hair in the window. All in all I looked like a decently dressed, clean and respectable woman…a married woman, with the evidence of that bond on my ring finger. The ring had belonged to John's mother, and he had given it to me. It wasn't a real marriage, per se, but I had the ring, I had a new name, and it felt nice to be a married woman, even though it was all just for show.

The grocery store was doing a steady stream of business, so I had to wait for half an hour before I could talk to the owner, Eugene Tuttle. He was a middle-aged man who closely resembled a beanpole, making me wonder when he'd last partaken of a good meal. The glasses that magnified his blue eyes looked like he was wearing the bottoms of a couple of Coca-Cola bottles on his face. Eugene Tuttle was nothing to look at, he was one of those people that you'd pass by without a second glance, but he was friendly and he was kind and that was what truly mattered, wasn't it?

"Good morning, Mr. Tuttle. My name is Marilyn Wallace and I've come to apply for the job as cashier."

I had no idea what John's last name was, I wasn't even sure if he knew what it was, so I chose my daddy's Christian name as our surname. I would explain everything to John when I went back home. I doubted that he would put up much of a fuss. He was always so supportive of me, so caring and understanding. I just hoped that I showed him how much I appreciated him, how much I appreciated everything that he did for me.

"Well, good morning to you as well, Miss Wallace."

Of course he assumed that I was a single lady, because it was almost unheard of for a married woman to seek employment, now that the war was over. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Tuttle, but I am Mrs. Wallace," I said, showing him my ring.

He blushed and adjusted his glasses. "I see, well, Mrs. Wallace, do you have any experience as a cashier?"

I took a deep breath, released it, and smiled as I replied, "No, sir, I do not, but I am a quick learner and a hard worker."

He looked at me for a moment with doubt in his eyes, but then he noticed the crowd of customers that were making their way to the cash register and that doubt turned to a sort of desperation. "You're hired, Mrs. Wallace. You can stand beside me for the first few customers and I'll show you the basics of what needs to be done, then we'll let you try things on your own."

That was my introduction into the world of cashiering. It didn't take me long to learn the functions of that machine, the only hiccup in every other transaction was my failure to distribute the customer's green stamps along with their receipt and their change, if they had any coming. I was a little surprised at how well I did, and I was even more surprised when Mr. Tuttle told me that I could go home. I had arrived in the late hours of the morning, and now it was five o'clock and quitting time.

"You did very well, Mrs. Wallace," Mr. Tuttle said, looking around the store as he pushed his glasses back on his nose. "I never would have thought that this was your first time working a cash register. We're open every day except for Sunday, and our hours are eight in the morning until six in the evening. I work the Saturday shift with my wife, Selma, so you will have your weekends free. I'll ask that you start your shift at eight- thirty and end at five with a half-hour for lunch. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

I hesitated for a moment, thinking of the home place and all of the work that John would have to do on his own. That being said, I would bring in a steady stream of money and we wouldn't have to scrimp so much. I could buy John a proper set of clothes, something other than that clown suit that he wore all of the time. We could have more than one towel, more than one washrag. We could buy more of a variety of food and John wouldn't have to walk the sides of the road to find bottles the way that he did now. All in all this job was a dream come true…I just hoped that John would see it that way.

John's POV

It was a windy night, the sort of wind that made you think that your home might be blown away, the sort of wind that scared me a lot more than any rain or thunder or lightning ever had. I had seen something not too long ago; the only time that I'd gone to a picture show, and that pretty girl named Dorothy had been taken up in a twister to a place called Oz. Granted, she'd had a lot of adventures before she woke up and realized that it had all been a dream, but land sakes, that twister bit had scared me half to death.

I had been scared of powerful winds before I'd seen that film, but that bit with the twister had made it worse, so now I was lying awake, listening to the wind and shivering every now and then when I ought to have been asleep. There was plenty of work that needed to be done once the sun came up, and how was I going to make it through the day without stopping to be a loafer if I didn't get a good night's sleep?

Mae was snuggled up beside me, sleeping like an angel with her left hand lying on my chest. It was very dark inside of the bus, but the moon was shining brightly, so I could see the ring that she was wearing on her finger. The ring had belonged to my mother, it had been her wedding band, and it was nice to see it on Mae's hand. I knew that she wasn't my wife, not really, but it sure was nice to pretend.

She had been working at that grocery store for a week and I still hadn't made up my mind about that. I wasn't going to tell her what she ought to do, but there was something that told me that I was the one who was supposed to be making a living for us. I reckoned that she made a lot more coin than I did, punching buttons on that cash register and killing her feet by standing on them all day, and how could I ever compete with that? She would be able to buy more things, she wouldn't have to go without, so I suppose that we would be better off in the long run.

There were a couple of other things that I was worried about. What if that killer found her, what if he tried to hurt her again? I wouldn't be there to save her if he came back and that scared me something awful. I was also worried that a man might come in there and she might be smitten with him 'cause he's handsome and rich and has all of his marbles. What would I do if she left me, how would I go on without her? I couldn't picture life without my little chickadee. Every time that I tried, it made me so sad that I started crying, and here I was, doing the same thing all over again.

I tried to be quiet, I tried not to shake too much, but in the end I woke Mae up. I could tell that she was still half asleep as she raised her head up and looked at me, so I tried to pull her back down and cuddle her back to sleep, but she was dead set on waking up. She leaned over me and looked at me for a little while, and then she reached over to wipe a tear off of my face.

"What is it?" she asked softly, reaching down to take hold of my hand. "Why are you sad?"

Ah, heck, I didn't know if I wanted to tell her the truth. I reckoned that it was a bit childish of me to be afeared of the wind and she liked her job, it made her happy to be earning a bit of coin, so how could I tell her that I felt like I was a loafer, a do-nothing who was at ease letting a woman, letting my _wife_ make our living?

"John, what is it?" she asked when I didn't say anything. She gave my hand another squeeze and leaned over to touch her lips to my cheek. "Sweetheart, why are you sad?"

Oh, lawsy…she had never done that before. It was enough that she was holding onto my hand, but to kiss me? No one had ever kissed me, not even my Ma, and it made my stomach flip-flop for Mae to do that to me. I reckoned that had to be one of the best feelings that I'd ever had…but was it right for me to be feeling that way, not to mention how the softness of her breast pressed up against my arm was making me feel.

"The wind woke me up and scared me," I whispered, staring up at the ceiling 'cause I was scared to look at her. It was a jumble in my head, one that I couldn't quite make fit together, but something told me that the way that I was reacting to the softness of her breast had something to do with what that murderer had done to her. I didn't know how this feeling led to the blood that had been on her thighs, but I knew that it did. I didn't want to hurt her, I didn't want to be like him, but I couldn't help the way that she made me feel.

Now she was slipping her arm around me and snuggling me, and that wasn't making things any easier, but I sure liked for her to hold me that way. "With me it's the thunderstorms, but you already know that," she said sleepily. "It's alright, John. I heard a weather report at work today and they said that the wind was going to blow and blow, but the speeds wouldn't get high enough to do any damage."

I hemmed and hawed for a little while and then I closed my eyes tight and said, "I feel like a lazy lay-about while you go out and work all day."

She was quiet at first, and I was scared that I'd made her mad at me. Then she sighed and cuddled even closer to me, when I'd been sure that she was as close to me as she could get. "Oh, John, you're not lazy, you're not a lay-about, and you don't need to let this chew on you this way. You do so much work here, but if you'd like to do something else, Mr. Tuttle mentioned something about needing someone to put the cans out on the shelves. I could tell him that you'd take the job, if you want me to."

I thought on that for a spell, I tried to picture myself with a paying job, like the one that I'd had before, only this one would mean making some changes. "I don't have the kind of clothes that I would need for something like that. And 'sides which, Mae, that Mr. Tuttle ain't liable to want to bring on someone who's feebleminded to….."

"John," she said in that tone that let me know that she wasn't happy with me. For just a minute I couldn't figure out what I'd done, then I remembered that she didn't like for me to talk about myself that way.

"Sorry, Mae, it's something that will take me awhile to quit."

I heard the smile in her voice as she talked to me. "That's okay, John," she said. "You know, you can ask Mrs. Overmire to let you have the clothes that you'd need now, and you can pay her for them when I get my first paycheck. I know that you'd be perfect for the job, if that's what you want, and what would be even better is the fact that we could be together all of the time, just like it was before I got this job."

It always made me happy to know that she liked to be with me, that I made her happy. I reckoned that I would go to Mrs. Overmire and get what I needed for that job. I suppose that it would be best to have some regular clothes anyway. I had some credit left over from the trading that I'd done there. I could use that to get what I needed and everything would be just as right as rain, if this Mr. Tuttle saw fit to give me a job.

That took care of that, but there was something else that was gnawing at me. I needed to tell her about it, but I was scared to tell her. What if she hated me after she knew what I was thinking, what I was feeling. She liked me 'cause she didn't know, would she still like me after I told her? I wanted to hide the truth, but that wouldn't be right, so I took a deep breath and said what needed to be said.

"I reckon that I'm a bit smitten with you, Mae. I never knew how nice it was to be touched by someone, to have them smile at you and know that you mean a good deal to them. The thing is, when you touch me the way that you are right now, it makes me feel things that I ain't never felt before. It makes me feel warm all over and causes things to happen that make me think that I'm a bad man. Am I bad to feel that way, Mae?"

She was quiet for a long time, so long that it scared me, and then she sighed and reached up to lay her hand against my cheek. "I'm a bit smitten with you as well, John," she said softly, lowering her hand and running her thumb over my lips. "That's why we feel the way that we do. I always wondered if I would find a man that made me feel the way that you do. It's not something that happens for everyone and we should feel fortunate that it happened to us. You're not a bad man, sweetheart. You're one of the best men that I've ever known…_the_ best man that I've ever known. All that we have to do is let this take the path that it's meant to take. We'll let it happen, and we won't ask why, we'll just be happy, alright, John?"

I smiled up at the ceiling and sighed the way that a man did when he was feeling happy. "That sounds like a plan to me," I whispered, thinking as I let myself get drowsy that the wind didn't scare me half as much as it did before.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

A man is sitting in a park, pretending to read a newspaper, watching over the top as two young women who are sitting on the bench opposite of his share a cherry Coca-Cola with two straws. They are both very pretty, though the one wearing the pink short sleeved sweater is just a smidge prettier than the one in yellow. They are not paying any attention to him, they're concentrating on catching the eye of the buff young men who've just entered the park, but the man on the bench is mindful of their every move.

He moans, very softly, as the one in the pink sweater takes a delicate sip from her straw. Her sweater tightens around her breast as she drinks, just the tiniest bit, but he can see it. He imagines what it would be like to be drawn into her mouth like that soda, to swish around a bit, before flowing down her throat. He imagines that nothing naughtier than Coca-Cola has ever been in her mouth before, but all of that is about to change.

The thrill of anticipation is so strong, so overwhelming, that it's all that he can do to keep his seat on the bench and behave like a normal man reading his paper. It is fortunate that his lap is covered; otherwise his erection would be visible to everyone around him. He licks his lips as he watches the young women, thinking to himself how tight they will be, how they will scream as he fucks them, as he uses his toys on them, as he drinks the blood of one, then the other.

It seems like a lifetime has passed since the last party that he threw, the one for the Collins family in Rood. He is a little surprised by his self-control, he would have thought that he would have acted out before now, but he's very glad that he waited. Sandra and Susan Myers…no, Sandy and Susie…are perfect for what he has in mind. He can hardly wait for the moment to arrive, but he will be patient, because the savoring of the meal is half of the fun of eating it.

John's POV

"You there! Young man, fetch me a can of peas!"

I looked down from the shelf where I was stacking cans of corn and saw the little old lady who scared the pea wadden out of everyone she talked to. She didn't look like she ought to have been as scary as she was. The top of her head couldn't have been any higher than my elbow and she smelled a little like mothballs, but everyone that I knew said that she was a wicked old witch.

Well, now, I had seen a wicked old witch in that picture show that had Dorothy Gale and Toto, but she'd had green skin and had thrown fireballs from her hands. Mrs. Lewis didn't do anything like that, which was a good thing, otherwise old Reverend Owens would have been trying to chase the demons out of her body. 'Sides which, that witch in the film had ridden around on a broom to go here and there, and I'd seen Mrs. Lewis drive up to Tuttle's in a '39 Packard, and what sort of witch did that?

I looked down again and saw that Mrs. Lewis was starting to look like she might have been gnashing her teeth and I was mighty tempted to stay up on my stepstool, but it was part of my job to help the customers, so I knew that I couldn't pretend that I hadn't heard her. 'Sides which, I reckoned that it would be frightfully ill-mannered for me to act that way, wouldn't it?

"Yes, ma'am, right away. Which kind would you like?"

I'd known most of my letters before I'd met my Mae, and she'd taught me the rest of 'em since we'd been in each other's company, so I could look at what was on the cans and get the customer what they wanted. Some folks didn't care about brands or how much something cost or what was on sale, but I reckoned that Mrs. Lewis could stretch a penny 'til old Abe Lincoln's head popped like a balloon.

"You people put the expensive brands at eye level, thinking that I'll buy the Le Sueur instead of having someone fetch the Del Monte for me, but I am not one who is easily bamboozled, young man. I'll take three cans of those Del Monte sweet peas and mind that you don't give me any dented cans, you hear?"

I didn't think that it was rightly fair to be accused of taking part on pulling some sort of trickery on our customers, but I knew that it would be best for me to keep my trap shut about that. I just did as she asked, taking down three cans of the Del Monte sweet peas and handing them to her. Each can was undented, with the label intact, which was something I always checked before I put the goods on the shelf.

"And now you can fetch me three cans of carrots, three of green beans and three of corn. I used to put in a garden and enjoy good vegetables, but I can't work like I used to, now that I got the arthritis in both of my knees."

I fetched what she'd asked for and put everything in one of the boxes that I'd just unpacked. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. There's nothing that can beat fresh vegetables, is there?"

I put the box in her shopping cart and smiled at her as I straightened up. "Now, when you go up to the register, you ask Marilyn to holler for me and I'll carry all of that out to your car for you, okay, Mrs. Lewis?"

She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at me and for a minute I was scared that she meant to give me the sharp side of her tongue for talking out of turn, but in the end she nodded at me, and then made her way down the aisle and away from me. At the end of the aisle she turned back and looked at me and I froze in place, wondering what I might have done to make her take notice of me again.

We looked at each other for a spell and then she said, "Thank you, young man," before she continued on her way. Hmm, well that sealed it for me. I reckoned that she wasn't a wicked witch, that she wasn't a witch at all, just someone who was in need of a little kindness. Maybe I'd bring her a few things from our garden, though there wasn't much to harvest anymore. That would probably make her happy, it might even make her day, and if I could do that it would make me awfully happy as well.

I felt a hand on my arm, one that ran downward until it reached my hand, which it squeezed. I turned around and saw Mae standing beside me, looking as pretty as a sunrise. I liked the feel of her hand in mine, I would have liked to have stayed that way, but that kind of thing was frowned on by those around us, so it would have to wait until later.

"Mr. Tuttle said that we can take our lunch break at noon. I'll come and find you and we can get a couple bottles of Coca-Cola and sit at the table out back, if that sounds good to you."

Of course that sounded good to me. I reckoned that she could have suggested just about anything to me and I would have gone along with it. She was the sweetest, prettiest woman that I'd ever met and it made my heart hurt in a good way to look at her. I reckoned that she'd never look at me like I looked at her, but that was okay. She was smitten with me, she was my best friend and she slept in my arms every night…what more could I ask for than all of that?

Mae's POV

Good Lord, my feet hurt something awful. The pain wasn't nearly as intense as it had been when I'd worn pumps to work, but even flats couldn't alleviate the agony of eight hours spent on my feet, not to mention the journey there and back home. I knew that I could have asked John to carry me and he would have done so with no hesitation at all, but I liked to walk beside him, with my hand in his.

We'd just finished dinner and were stretched out on the grass, watching as the first stars started to shine. "John, would you do something for me?"

I winced after the words left my mouth, wondering why on earth I'd said them. I knew that he would do what I wanted; there was nothing that I could ask of him that he wouldn't make every effort that was humanly possible to do. That being said, I wondered if this was something that pushed things beyond boundaries that we were both comfortable with.

"Why, you know that all you have to do is ask, Mae."

He had turned over onto his side and he was looking at me expectantly. I suppose that I could have made up some sort of fib, but I didn't like to lie to him and he had a canny way of knowing when I was storying. "Would you mind very much if I asked you to…well, that is, would you mind terribly…would you rub my feet for me?"

He looked a little confused at first, as if he was still waiting to hear whatever favor it was that I meant to ask for and then he blinked a couple of times, as if he was trying to figure out why I'd made such a fuss over something that was nothing at all. He laughed a little and sat up, reaching a little shyly for my right foot, which he placed in his lap.

"Well, goodness me, I thought you was going to ask me for something that was hard or awfully bad," he said teasingly, pulling my shoe off of my foot and putting those big hands of his to good use. "I reckon that your feet must hurt something fierce after you were on them all day long."

The thing of it was, John was on his feet all day as well. Granted, he could move around more than I could, but that didn't change the facts. Plus, he always toted our lunch box and any packages that we either took with us or brought home. We shared the chores at home, but he would never let me do any of the heavy lifting or the dirtiest work.

"They do and I imagine that they stink something awful as well," I said with a wince, imagining the aroma that was making its way to his nose, which was, in all honesty, a big part of my hesitation to have him rub my feet. "I would also imagine that your feet are sore."

He ran his thumb up the arch of my foot, causing the most curious flutter low down in my belly. "Aw, Mae, you ought to know better than to think that any part of you could stink," he murmured, kneading outward from the center of my foot, an action that caused that flutter to multiply. "And my dogs were barkin' on the way home, but they've quieted down for the night."

I giggled at his joke, then wriggled a bit, then froze. Oh, Lord…that strange flutter had just moved a little lower and I wasn't sure what it was that I was feeling or why I was feeling it. It didn't seem shameful or even slightly wrong, but it was unlike anything that I'd ever felt before. I wriggled again, just to see if the flutter was still there, and then gasped when it clutched hold of me stronger than it had before.

"Is everything alright, Mae?"

Geez, how was I supposed to answer? Things were different, slightly alarming…yet, at the same time, I liked what I was feeling. That being said, how could I explain what I was experiencing to John when I didn't even know what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. I decided that it would be best to keep this discovery to myself for the time being. I just hoped that I would find out what it was and soon…and I also hoped that it wouldn't go away.

"I'm doing fine, John," I murmured, smiling up at the sky. "As a matter of fact, I've never felt as good as I feel right now."

John's POV

Mae had been acting kind of funny for the past couple of days, sneaking looks at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention and smiling in a way that I'd never seen before. It was odd for her to act the way that she was acting, but I liked it just fine. I also liked the way that she said my name when she was smiling like that, all soft like, in a way that I would have sworn that I could feel running all over me like the palm of her hand.

We'd had a nice time after work, stopping by Lefty's for a burger, fries and a soda pop. We'd had to walk home in the dark, but we had a nice lantern now, one that put off a strong glow, and we'd made it home safe and sound. After that, we decided to sit outside a bit before we went to bed and I noticed that Mae was staring at me the whole while and I wondered if I'd dribbled a bit of mustard or ketchup on my chin. I rubbed my hand across my chin, but didn't find a mess, so why in the world was she staring at me?

Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant that we would have the day to ourselves. Maybe she was thinking on that and what she wanted to do. I thought that we ought to make a trip to Mrs. Overmire's to stock up on rations. I turned to Mae, to see what she thought of my plan, but she stood up before I could say anything and reached down to pull me up out of my chair.

We were standing face-to-face…well, face to chest…and then she tilted her head back and looked up at me with those big doe eyes. Golly, my chest suddenly felt all tight inside and it felt like my stomach dropped down to my feet. That sounded like it ought to have felt awful, but it didn't feel bad at all. I looked at her mouth, thinking to myself how soft and plump her lips looked, and I had a powerful urge to touch them with mine.

I slowly lowered my head, waiting for her to tell me to stop, but she didn't say anything. I could see that she was breathing hard and fast, just like I was, and her eyelids fluttered and closed right before our mouths touched, so I closed my eyes too. Glory be, her mouth was just as soft as a rabbit's fur and it was full and it was sweet and for that moment it was mine.

She slid her hands up my chest and around the back of my neck, standing on her tippy toes so she could reach. I wound one of my arms around her waist, and then the other one, cradling her close to me, 'til I could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against my chest. I didn't know if I was kissing her right, I'd never kissed anyone before, but it sure felt nice. She made a sound that might have meant that she was in pain, but she didn't act like she was hurt. She opened her mouth, just a tiny bit, and drew my bottom lip in, just a tiny bit.

Land sakes, how did she know to do that? I couldn't say for certain, but I did know that it felt like a surge of electricity shot all through my body, like I'd just been hit by a bolt of lightning. 'Course, that sounded mighty painful, but what I was feeling didn't hurt at all. It caused some peculiar reactions in my body, but they were mighty pleasant as well.

I was curious about how Mae would react if I was to do the same thing to her, so I gave it a try. I opened my mouth just a little bit and brought her bottom lip inside. I don't know what came over me, what made me think of such a thing, but I decided to give her lip a little nibble as well, not so I'd hurt her, but kind of teasing like. Well, she obviously liked that just fine because she made that mewling sound that meant that she wasn't hurt and surged up against me.

Parts of her met and said hello to parts of me and we jumped apart in a flash, like we'd been caught doing something naughty. For a minute or so we just stared at one another, breathing heavy, and, in my case, feeling my heart pounding like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. I didn't know what I ought to say to her, I didn't know what was right and what was wrong in this situation. I wanted to tell her how pretty she was, and how sweet and how she made me feel like my heart was soaring and singing and swelling until it almost hurt, but nothing would come out, that is, nothing of what I was thinking.

"Golly, Mae," I said breathlessly, bending down to touch my forehead against hers. "Do you suppose that we could do that again?"


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

John's POV

I was sitting in Mr. Tuttle's office, a room that wasn't much bigger than our sit-down out back and I was feeling mighty nervous. I didn't know why the boss had asked to see me. I reckoned that he must have had something important to tell me, but why had he asked to see me in his office, a room that I'd never been in before? Maybe he had bad news, maybe I'd been fired and he'd brought me in this room so I wouldn't make a fuss in front of all the customers.

Oh, this was bad. I didn't want to lose my job, I liked my job, but if that was what he had in mind, I just hoped that I would take the news with my pride intact. I wouldn't beg for a second chance and I wouldn't cry. I would shake his hand and thank him for taking a chance on me and giving me the opportunity to earn a wage. I just hoped that he wouldn't fire Mae as well, because I knew that she'd be brokenhearted if he did.

I sat in the chair in front of Mr. Tuttle's desk, the one that was patched here and there with masking tape, and did my best to ignore the coil that was poking me in the hind end. I reckoned that I would beg for Mae's job…nope, I knew that I would. I would get down on my hands and knees and plead with him to keep her on if needs be, 'cause she was mighty proud of the wage that she earned and I wouldn't want that to be taken away from her.

I'd just about worked myself up into a lather by the time Mr. Tuttle joined me in his office and it shamed me to realize that I had tears in my eyes. How in tarnation was I supposed to keep a tight grip on my pride if my voice was all teary and trembly? I reckoned that he could see that I was on the verge of crying, but Mr. Tuttle was a kindly sort of man and he didn't mention it. He took a seat across from me and smiled instead and I did my best to give him a smile of my own, but I reckoned it was a mite bit watery.

"I'm sorry to take you away from your work, John, but I just got off of the phone with Peter Crane, the administrator of the local hospital and he and I have come up with an idea for the children's ward and I wanted to discuss it with you."

Hmm, that wasn't what I'd been waiting for at all. I didn't know anything about administering to hospitals and the only thing that I could think of when I pictured children in hospitals was that it wasn't fair, not at all. There were all sorts of questions that came to my mind, but I figured that it was best for me to keep them where they were for the time being.

"Marilyn told me that you'd worked as a children's entertainer, a clown, a few years back and Mr. Crane and I were wondering if you might be interested in dressing up as a clown and performing for the children at the hospital."

I didn't know what to say. I'd always wanted to be a clown again, but since I'd left Rusty's it had seemed like I was never going to be given that chance again. I couldn't believe that they were going to give me the chance to make children laugh again. It was a dream come true, the news made me want to cry happy tears, but I reckoned that would make Mr. Tuttle uncomfortable, so I kept those in for later on.

"I'd be plumb tickled to play the clown again, sir," I said, once I was sure that I could say something in a steady voice. "But won't that make it hard for me to do my job here at the store?"

The thought of being a clown again made me happy, but my job at the store was something that helped to provide for my household and I would not turn loose of it. That being said, I really wanted to be a clown again, so I hoped that I would be able to do both of them, but if that couldn't be done, I wouldn't do anything that would hurt the job that I already had.

"Oh, no, John, it wouldn't interfere at all. If you agree to do this, you would only have to give up every other Saturday, from one until three. Mr. Crane said that he would like for you to start next Saturday. How does that sound to you?"

After I'd said that it sounded grand to me, I started wondering what Mae would think. I wasn't used to running things by someone else before I agreed to them, but what if she got cross with me because I'd said yes before I'd talked it over with her? I didn't want her to be mad at me…but I sure wanted to be a clown again. I hoped that she would understand why I'd said yes and I hoped that she wouldn't be sore at me.

"Well, John, I believe that all clowns go by a pseudonym, a clown name, if you will. What are you going to call yourself?"

Hmm…I hadn't thought about that. I didn't want to use my old name, 'cause there were bad memories that went along with that name. I thought about what I liked to do as a clown, and one of the things that I was best at was making balloon animals. I liked to take the balloons and blow them up, then twist them into different animals. I was good at that; the children had liked them a lot, so that seemed like the best choice.

"I think that I'd like to be called Twisty," I said, "Twisty the Clown."

Mae's POV

Poor John, he was so sure that I was mad at him for taking the volunteer position at the hospital, but I thought that it was a wonderful opportunity for him. I was not fond of clowns, as a matter of fact, I pretty much hated them, but I didn't hate John, or Twisty, as he would be known. There was much to do, with the cleaning and patching of the costume that he'd worn all of the time when I'd first met him, the buying of face paint and new gloves, as well as a big canvas tote to hold all of his balloons.

I knew that he was excited to return to something that he'd loved and I was certain that he would be wonderful. He'd set aside a few balloons to practice with, and we now had a giraffe, a dog and an elephant living with us in the bus. I praised him every step of the way, not only because I was truly proud of him, but also because I knew that he still wasn't completely sure of himself and he needed a lot of encouragement to keep him from becoming nervous and disheartened.

I was waiting for him in bed as he checked the place over and made certain that everything was as it ought to be before he turned in for the night. I was looking forward to feeling him slide beneath the covers beside me and having him take me into his arms. I knew that we would exchange a few kisses before we went to sleep, but tonight I wanted to go a little further.

I never would have thought that I would be able to feel this way about a man after what that murdering son of a bitch had done to me. I would have expected that unclean, horrified feeling to linger, to be made worse if another man had tried to touch me, but now I knew that the complete opposite was possible, at least it was with John. I wasn't sure about what I would do, I was new to so many things, but he had woken something in me and I was curious to explore these new feelings and sensations.

There he was, so big and warm and solid behind me. I loved his hands, his big, strong hands and I especially loved the way that they felt as he ran one of them over my tummy as he drew me back close against him. I knew that he was going to turn me toward him, that he was going to search for my mouth with his own, and sure enough that was what he did. Hmm, it felt so good to be kissed by him, to be held by him, I'd grown to love the things that he did; I'd grown accustomed to them. I whimpered softly, not because I was in pain, but because I could feel his mouth moving on mine and each kiss made me feel all fluttery down low, between my thighs.

He held me tighter when I whimpered, and then he gasped and tightened his hands on my nightgown when I shyly ran the tip of my tongue between his lips. I was sure that he liked that, judging by his response, so I did it again and was pleasantly surprised when his tongue met mine. I ran the tip of my tongue around his and then he did the same to me, two times, then three, before he drew back to look at me.

"You taste like honey," he said breathlessly, stroking the calloused pad of his thumb over my lips. "I always liked honey, but it tastes even better on you."

I smiled at him and slipped my arm around his waist. "I had a spoonful of that honey that you brought home before I turned in," I explained, hooking one of my legs over his. I knew that I was behaving very boldly, but something had been awakened in me and I was eager to explore it, just so long as I could control what happened and when. "John, do you like these things that we're doing?"

"I sure do," he said, reaching down to stroke my leg. "I never would have thought that you'd want to do any of these things with me, but I sure am glad that you do."

I leaned forward and pressed my nose against his neck, drawing in the smell of him, of the soap that he'd washed with and beneath that, his own comforting scent. I could tell that he was holding his breath as I ran my nose up and down his throat, and then he gasped and shuddered when I pressed my lips, very softly, against the place where his pulse was racing.

"I never would have thought that I'd want to do these things with anyone, not after what happened," I whispered, taking delight in the way that he tightened his arms around me as I spoke, as if he knew exactly what I needed and when I needed it. "But you make me feel things that take my breath away, John. You make me feel all warm and fluttery, you've woke something up inside of me and I want to explore it…but I want to do so on my terms."

I was a little nervous about making that sort of declaration. It was not a woman's place, to say what she would do, how she would do it and when she would do it. Women were expected to follow a man's lead, that was what I'd learned throughout my life, so how would John respond to what I'd said? I waited for him to answer, and after a few moments of silence went by my anxiety grew by leaps and bounds, but then he started to chuckle and I knew that everything was going to be alright.

"Aw, Mae, I feel like the luckiest man in the world, knowing that you feel those things for me. There ain't nothing that will happen between us unless you want it to happen. I'm never going to push you or do something that will make you uncomfortable. Wherever you lead, I'll follow…I'm going to depend on you to show me what I need to do."

I smiled a little shakily and reached up to brush my thumb over his lips, my smile growing wider when he gave my thumb a kiss. "We're both blessed and we're going to have a lot of fun learning all of these things together. Thank you for letting me do things at my own pace, John. There's so much that I want, so much that I need…but I have to know that I can stop if I need to."

He lowered his head and kissed me softly, not to tantalize me, but to show me that he was there for me and that he cared. "There's no need for you to thank me, little chickadee," he said softly, holding me tight against his chest. "You just let me know what you need and when you need it and you'll have it. It really is just as simple as that."

August 26th, 1947

Arundel, FL

Dusk was falling when a knock sounded on the door of the Myers household. Geraldine was busy cooking dinner and called to her husband Harold to answer the door. The head of the household had a newspaper in front of his face and a stiff drink on the table beside him. He worked at the bank in town and had barely made it through the day without cursing anyone out; therefore he was in no mood to deal with someone who came calling at dinnertime. He hollered up the stairs for one of the twins to make themselves useful and answer the door, but Sandy and Susie were laying on their beds, flipping the pages of _Screenland_ magazine. They were far too busy to answer the door, so they called to their brother Dennis to do so.

Dennis, who was playing with his army men, sighed and rolled his eyes, but he knew that there was no point in arguing. His sisters were just about the laziest people on the face of the earth. They didn't even bother helping Mother to get dinner made and put on the table, and she never made them do anything. Father was in one of his dark moods again and too much provocation might encourage him to remove his belt and warm up his son's backside. Therefore, the boy knew that it was best for him to answer the door and save himself the grief that would come his way if he refused to do so.

There was a second knock, and then a third before the boy reached the door. He worried that his father would holler at him, but he just glared over the top of his paper. Dennis flipped the switch to turn on the porch light, and to his surprise he found a man dressed up like a clown waiting on the other side of the screen door. He wasn't all that fond of clowns anymore, that was baby stuff, but it was still kind of neat to see one on his front porch.

"Good evening, young man, how do you do?" the clown said genially, bending at the waist, like he was greeting someone of importance. "I am Flick the Clown and I was wondering if there was anyone in this house who needed a good laugh."

Dennis thought of his mother who worked so hard to keep house and make everyone except herself happy. He thought of his curmudgeonly father, who never had time to play baseball or go fishing, who was always buried in his paper and a tumbler of scotch when he was at home. He thought of his silly sisters who were gaga over boys and clothes and makeup. They thought that he was a pest, they were always mean to him, and they stuck their tongues out at him whenever he looked at them.

"My name is Dennis Myers," the boy answered, reaching out to unlatch the screen door. "Since you asked, I could sure use a good laugh."

He knew that he wasn't supposed to let any strangers into the house; he knew that he would catch hell for doing so, but he was in the mood to rile everyone up. His father usually found a reason for walloping on him, no matter how hard he tried to please him. His mother would take away all of his privileges for at least a week, but she usually found something that he'd done wrong anyway, so what was new about that? Sandy and Susie would say that he was a moron, that he didn't have a brain in his head, but they were always nasty to him, so why shouldn't he have a little fun beforehand?

Flick the Clown was carrying a case with his name on the side. Dennis wondered what sort of wonderful gags and props he'd brought with him. He'd seen a clown's show years before, when he was a little boy and it had been a great time. His father hadn't been there, he had never had the time or patience for that sort of nonsense, but his mother and sisters had been with him and they'd been nice to him. His mother had held him on her lap, Sandy had shared her popcorn with him and Susie had given him sips of her soda. That had been a good day, the sort that they never had anymore and he wished that they could be that way again.

Dennis opened the door and let the clown inside. He was pretty sure that everyone would be mad at him for doing something so stupid to begin with, but once Flick began entertaining they would see that he'd done the right thing. Maybe the clown would make all of them laugh, even his father. He imagined what might happen as he closed and latched the screen door. He thought of days gone by and how much he missed them. He remembered the laughter that had filled the house when he was younger. As a matter of fact, he was so caught up in the memories of his childhood that the knife that entered his back caught him completely by surprise and as he choked on his blood and tried to call for his father, he heard a voice in his ear whisper, "Thank you for letting me in, Dennis. We're going to have a hell of a good time."


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

John's POV

I felt like I was going to urp, what with the nervy jitters in my belly and listening to Mr. Crane on the other side of the curtain that was hiding me from the little ones. I was trying to look on the sunny side, to think of making those youngsters smile and maybe even laugh, but my nerves were doing everything that they could to get the best of me. I could feel myself starting to sweat and that made things even worse, 'cause Mae had done my makeup for me and she'd done a danged good job, but how was anyone going to know after I sweated it all off?

This was a dream come true for me, to be given a chance to entertain children, to make them laugh and clap their hands, to take their minds off anything that might have been troubling them. This was the thing that I'd always wanted to do, and what was even better was the fact that I had Mae at my side, helping me get ready, cheering me on and giving me her support. I never knew how nice things could be with a sweetheart by your side and here I was, all set to ruin it all, just because I couldn't get ahold of my nerves.

"Take a deep breath, sweetheart," Mae murmured, carefully drawing in the lines of blue from the corners of my mouth. "You're a good clown, you know how to make the children happy. All that you have to do is be yourself and you'll have them laughing in no time."

I took a deep breath and looked down at the new costume that Mae had paid Mrs. Overmire to make for me. It was just like my old one, because Mae had taken the old one to Mrs. Overmire, so that she could see what it looked like. It felt like I'd gone back in time, as I looked at that costume, only things were a lot better for me. I was excited, knowing that I was going to be entertaining the children again, I was happy, because I'd been given a second chance. I just wished that I wasn't so darned jittery.

"I'm going to be out there, cheering you on," Mae said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to my mouth, which was the last thing that she had to paint. "Don't be scared, John. I know that you're going to be great."

I couldn't believe that she would kiss me in front of all the people around us. She acted like it was just the two of us, like no one could see us kissing, and the fact that she wasn't ashamed to have anyone see her kissing me made me feel good. That warm feeling in my chest helped to take the uneasiness away and for the first time, I felt like everything was going to be alright.

"I'm going to do my best, I'm not going to let the jitters get the best of me," I promised her, holding my mouth still as she coated my lips with red paint. "The children will like me, just so long as I remember to be myself, and not someone that I was never meant to be."

There was probably more that Mae meant to say to me in order to encourage me, but the hospital administer, Mr. Crane, popped his head around the curtain and said that it was time for the show to begin. Mercy, but my heart started pounding then, so much so that I halfway expected it to pop out of my chest. I rose to my feet, doing my best to ignore the way that my legs were shaking, and followed Mr. Crane, taking a small dose of courage from the feel of Mae's hand squeezing mine as I walked past her.

I didn't have a very big audience, but that was for the best, considering where we were. There were five children waiting for me in hospital type chairs, all of them looking downright miserable, except for the girl in the middle. Now, she didn't look like she was feeling as chipper as a youngster ought to, but she was the only one that was smiling, and she'd prettied up her hair with a big red bow.

I took another of those deep breaths. This was the moment of truth, I had to do something in this moment to win them over, but what in the Sam Hill was it? Mae had told me to be myself, she had faith in me…and there she was, sitting just a little way away from the children and she was smiling at me and nodding. It was nice to have a familiar face looking back at me from the audience, especially her face, which was so dear to me.

"Howdy, kiddos, I'm Twisty the Clown!" I said, giving them a taste of the slide whistle as I took my place in the center of the room. "Who can give me a big smile and a wave?"

For just a minute I thought that none of them would smile, none of them would wave, but Mae smiled and gave a big wave, and one by one the children followed her lead, starting with the girl with the big red bow. All of them smiled, even the ones who looked like they felt like dirt, they all waved, even those ones who looked like it took all their strength to do so. It was a good beginning and it gave me the gumption that I needed to keep the show going.

"Thank you kindly, boys and girls," I said, offering a smile and wave, then bending to fetch my bag off the floor. I brought out my bowling pins, which were newly painted for the occasion, and began to juggle. I moved to the left side of the room, then to the right, and finally moved back to the center. The children smiled, they clapped their hands, but they didn't really perk up until I brought out my supply of balloons and started blowing them up.

I was holding a rainbow in my hands and I knew just what to do with them. I started blowing up a purple balloon, because I knew that was Mae's favorite color. I looked at her and winked and motioned her to come up to the front of the room. I saw her cheeks turn pink, but she didn't disappoint me. She made her way to where I'd taken a seat, smiling at each child that she passed, and squealed very softly with surprise as I sat her down on my knee.

"Hi there, pretty lady," I said, smiling as I bounced her a time or two, once she was settled on my knee. "Do you like balloons?"

She narrowed her eyes at me and for a second, I was afraid that I'd made her sore at me, but then she smiled, and I reckoned that I wasn't in Dutch after all. "I love balloons, Twisty, especially purple balloons," she said, snuggling closer to me in a way that had me feeling a little warm beneath the paint on my face. "Are you going to make me something pretty with that purple balloon?"

"Why, yes, ma'am," I said, and went to work with that purple balloon and a green balloon and when I was finished, I gave her the flower that I'd made. She gazed at it with a smile on her face that told everyone that she really liked her flower, then she thanked me and gave me a kiss on my cheek. I watched her walk back to her seat, well, that is, I watched her backside and felt all hot and bothered for just a minute, before I remembered that I was there for the children.

"Alright, kiddos, who wants the next balloon?"

All the hands in the audience raised up in the air at different heights, but that little girl with the red bow was the most enthusiastic. One of the nurses came 'round to where she was sitting, and it was then that I saw that she couldn't walk. Lord a mercy, that was one of the saddest things that I'd ever seen in my life. I couldn't work out why things like that happened to children, I suppose that it wasn't up to me to decide. I knew that it was wicked of me to say it, but I wished that it was the bad people who were stricken, instead of this innocent child.

The nurse brought the little girl up to me and sat her, very gently, on my lap. She was a bright-eyed little mite who weighed about as much as a feather. Her eyes were bright, but they were tired, and I could tell that she was starting to get worn-out. I smiled at her, a beam that she answered with one that was gap-toothed and filled with a tad bit of orneriness. It wasn't the mean kind, I was willing to bet that she didn't have an unkind bone in her body, but I reckoned that she could get up to the dickens if the urge hit her to do so.

"What's your name, Miss?" I asked, almost bobbing my knee, as I would have done with the children that I'd made smile back in the day, but then I recalled how fragile this little one was, and I stayed still.

The girl with the bow looked to her nurse for permission to tell me what her name was, which showed that she had a good deal of common sense. The nurse smiled, then nodded, and that was all that the girl needed to put her trust in me. "My name is Sara, but everyone calls me Sally."

She said the letter S kind of funny, she said TH instead, but I'd just as soon step on barbed wire with my bare feet than to laugh at her. I knew what it was like to be laughed at and have people poke fun at you, just because you were a little different. Besides which, I kind of liked the way that she said the letter S. Everyone else said S, she said TH, and that made it more interesting to listen to her talk.

"Well, I'm happy to meet you, Sally. I can make you a dog or a flower, sweetheart. Which one would you like?"

She thought about it for a while, chewing on the end of one braid with her eyes closed tight. "I want a doggie!" she declared after a few minutes had passed by.

"Yes, ma'am, I can do that," I said, "what color do you want the doggie to be?"

I had a pretty good idea that she was going to say red, and sure enough, that was her answer. I did a good job on her dog, and on all the other balloon flowers and dogs that I made that afternoon. I was tuckered out once everything came to an end, but I felt good, better than good, I felt like I was on the top of the world and I had everything that a man could ever want.

Life was good, wasn't it?

Mae's POV

Poor John, he was exhausted when we got home, but he couldn't quit grinning. The gig at the hospital had gone great, he'd made a group of sick children smile, and I'd been there to witness every moment. My heart had been acting all fluttery as I watched him and there'd been a lump in my throat when I saw how good, how natural he was with all those children. There was something very attractive about watching the man that you loved interacting with a child. It made me think thoughts that made my pulse speed up and made me feel fluttery all over again, just not in my heart, but a spot that was lower down.

I'd been closed tight after that evil man had violated me. I saw myself as a rosebud that hadn't opened. Its petals were drawn up, unyielding and protective. That was how I'd been, but little by little, my petals had opened, and now I was in full bloom, all because of John. He made me feel things that I was certain would never appeal to me and just looking at him made my heart pitter-patter and made me tingle down low, where I'd been hurt so horribly, but which was healed and was now so curious to get to know him.

I wondered if John was as curious as I was, I wondered if he wanted me as much as I wanted him. I knew that he took pleasure in what we did with one another, but did he long to take things further, to possess me completely and make me his in every way? Would he see that I was his, or would he remember what he'd seen beneath my dress when he tended to my wounds and think of me as damaged goods?

That was silly, John didn't look at people in that way. It was something that I'd been told about since I was a teen, that a man would never want a woman who was "damaged goods". It was something that I'd taken to heart, that I believed was gospel, but what if a woman was taken by force? Why was a woman blamed for something that had been beyond her control and was the last thing that she wanted? It was unfair, it was wrong, it was iniquitous…it was horseshit, plain and simple.

I hadn't said a word to John, but he turned over on our bed and looked at me with concern in his eyes. "What's troubling you, sweetheart?" he asked quietly, holding out his hand, inviting me to lay down beside him. "You look like you're about ready to carve up someone's liver…and I'm a little scared that it might be mine."

I laid down beside him and put my arm around him, so I could snuggle as close to him as possible. "Oh, honey, I would never carve up any part of you," I said, biting back a giggle, just in case he wasn't joshing me. "I'll snuggle you; I'll kiss you and love on you, but I'll never hurt you."

I could tell that I'd pleased him. He was smiling, he was also blushing as he rolled over on his side, then gently turned me, so I was facing him. He usually felt the need to ask for my permission to kiss me, but not this time. He touched my lips with his, one kiss, then two, and three, before he shyly slipped the tip of his tongue between my lips and thoroughly explored my mouth.

There it was, that little flutter between my thighs. I moaned and arched against John and I heard his breath catch in his throat as I bumped up against the part of him that was growing with his arousal. I think that he was confused for a moment, that he was wondering whether it was wrong to be feeling what he was feeling.

I smiled and reached up to cup his cheek. "It's not wrong, John," I assured him. "We care about one another, and it's alright for us to be close like this, as long as it's what we both want."

He took a deep breath, then blew it out and smiled. "Well…I like what we do when we're snuggling. I just don't want to do anything that hurts you, chickadee."

I could have told him that there was nothing that he could do that would hurt me worse than I'd already been hurt. I could have told him that I knew the torment and degradation of being taken in violence, against your will. I could have told him that I'd had my flesh rendered and violated…but I wouldn't. There was no room for those memories, not now, that I was healed, and I would not soil what he and I had made together.

"I trust you, John," I whispered, leaning toward him and kissing him very softly. "I know that you would never hurt me."

He took another of those deep breaths, then blew it out. "I did good today, didn't I, Mae? I think that those children really liked me, and they certainly liked their balloons, didn't they?"

I smiled at him and nodded. "You were an excellent clown, _Twisty_."

He looked at me uncertainly. "You don't hate that name, do you?"

I broadened my smile and kissed him once more. "No, sweetheart, it's a perfect choice."

He looked relieved. "Oh, good. I was afraid that you might hate it and then I'd have to come up with something new."

I shook my head at him. "I don't hate it and I don't want you to change it."

He smiled, the sort of beam that made his eyes sparkle and he started to kiss me again, the sort of kisses that stole my breath away. I found myself being caught up in the passion, in the fluttering that I'd grown so fond of…but then I remembered something and took my mouth away from his.

"John, you must be starving, and I forgot all about fixing dinner."

He looked like he was weighing his options, thinking hard about each one…and then he took me up in his arms once more. "We'll have peanut butter sandwiches after a while," he said. "Right now, I'd rather do some snuggling, if you wouldn't mind too terribly much, honeypie."


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

It is unseasonably cool for a Sunday in late September and he doesn't like the change in the weather. He hates it if things get too hot, because then he sweats and stinks, and his perspiration also tends to run down his back into the crack of his ass. He doesn't like it when things get too cool either, because there's no heat in his crummy apartment and the rats tend to climb under the blankets with him at night in a bid to stay warm.

What makes this chilly day even worse is the fact that he's spending part of it sitting in a church. He fully expected to burst into flames as soon as he walked through the double doors, and when that didn't happen, he waited for a bolt of lightning to strike his head, but he was left untouched. Unfortunately, that left him alive and therefore he was forced to listen to the preacher babbling on and on about a bunch of bullshit that he didn't believe in…but he had something pleasant to distract him.

The Avery family was sitting in the pew across the way and one up. He couldn't see their faces, but he had seen them plenty of times before today. The patriarch of the family, George, managed a grocery store in Tequesta. His wife, Maude, was, of course, a housewife. Lucy was the oldest daughter and could have been a beauty queen. Betty was the middle child and only had a couple of marbles rolling around inside her head. John was the youngest of the family and was surprisingly pleasant and polite for a boy of fifteen.

The man wanted Lucy, just looking at her made his mouth water, his pulse race and his pants feel too tight in the crotch. She would be the main event of the show that he would put on for the Avery family, but in order to get to her, he was going to have to charm Betty. Most times he went through the boy of the family, but John was a little too old to be taken in by a clown. Betty, on the other hand, was more childlike and innocent and he knew that she would just _love_ Flick the Clown.

The old hag sitting next to him handed him the collection plate. He wanted to snarl at her to go to hell, but he managed to smile instead. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a quarter, which he dropped in the plate…and palmed a dollar on his way out.

Mae's POV

Oh, I loved a carnival, especially when there was just a touch of a chill in the air. When it was cool, they served hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick in it. They had the usual fare of popcorn, candy apples and cotton candy, but I really enjoyed the apple cider. I loved to hear the cheerful music from the carousel, I liked the sound of the children laughing and squealing with delight as they went 'round and 'round on the Ferris wheel.

I'd always had so much fun with Josie when the carnival was in town. I'd always been deathly afraid of heights but riding up into the sky on the Ferris wheel had never been scary, not at long as she had been by my side. If I closed my eyes, I could see the two of us in one of those cars, sharing a bag of popcorn and sipping cider.

I'd loved her so much, I loved her now, perhaps more than I did before I lost her. I didn't just feel that way about Josie either. I missed Papa and Mama and Ernie something fierce as well and my love for them had grown tenfold, now that they were gone. Why was it that we never knew what we had until it was gone?

That was why I made sure that a day never went by without me showing John how much I cared about him. He had saved me from meeting the same fate as my family and I was grateful for that, but it wasn't gratitude that made me care for him as deeply as I did. It was because he was my best friend, my confidante, my shelter, my rock…and, hopefully soon, my lover.

We bypassed anything that promised a gander at someone who was a "freak". It was my opinion that they had enough people gawking at them without John and I joining in. We made do with sharing a bag of popcorn, with plenty of salt and butter, and indulging in a couple of paper cups with hot cider in them. John finished his drink first, then put his arm around me to ward off the chill in the air.

We'd made one pass around the grounds when John leaned down to whisper that he needed to find the facilities. I was glad that he was finally able to say that to me without blushing beet red as he did so. He took all the trash from me, to throw away in a barrel that we'd just passed and said that he'd bring us some cotton candy on his way back. I watched him disappear into the crowd, and then I continued to walk around on my own.

I spotted the carousel in the distance and wondered if I was too heavy to sit on one of those horses and be spun 'round and 'round to the cheerful music. I supposed that it was a silly thing for a grown woman to want to do, but it seemed like it would be so much fun. The children were laughing as they clung to the poles in front of them, waving as they passed their parents and I had a nearly overwhelming urge to do the same.

Suddenly it seemed much darker, as if someone had turned out the lights. I noticed that the temperature had dropped by several degrees and I began to shiver, even though I was wearing a sweater. The changes in the atmosphere seemed to bring me out of some sort of fog and I realized that I had wandered away from the crowd, that I was lost, and I started to breathe harder as I turned to the right, then to the left, and then I looked all around me, but it was obvious that I was alone.

I could still see the carnival in the distance, I could hear the sounds, the same ones that I'd been hearing all night, but they were far away. I started to move toward the tents and the lights, when suddenly a lone bulb turned on a short distance away from me. That didn't make any sense, because there wasn't any electricity where I was, but that single light burned anyway, dimly at first, then very bright.

As I gazed at the light, a figure stepped out of the darkness and stood beneath it. The person waved at me, a goofy waggling that shook his entire body and I froze as I watched him. I remembered that wave and the sight of it sent cold trickles of fear coursing up and down my spine. Then he laughed and I whimpered fearfully and looked around for John, but he was nowhere to be seen. He'd saved me before, but what if he couldn't help me this time?

"Well, hiya Mae Collins," Flick the Clown said cheerfully, in that voice that grated on me and made me shiver with fear. "Fancy meeting you here, you nasty little cunt."

There was a voice in my head that told me to run as fast as I could, to find John, so he could protect me, but I was too scared to move. The clown was watching me closely, he was waiting for me to bolt, and he had his hand behind his back, and though I hadn't seen it, I was pretty sure that he was holding a knife. That was why he wanted me to run, because that was part of the fun, chasing me, catching me, then torturing me.

"You stupid bitch, you ruined the whole show," he said, curling his lip in disgust as he looked at me. "She was supposed to be the finale, she was the one who was beautiful, who was special, but she wanted to save you, her precious little sister, and you ran…you didn't sacrifice yourself for her, you let her die…you ruined everything and I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

I had seen many sides of the clown in the short time that I'd known him, but this was the first time that I'd seen him, or any grown man for that matter, indulge in a full-blown temper tantrum. Funnily enough, it alleviated my fear just a bit, but then he brought his hand around from behind his back, and sure enough, he was holding a knife. I recognized that knife, it had belonged to my mother, she'd used it to chop up vegetables, and he'd taken it from the drawer beside the sink, he'd stolen it and used it to murder my family.

I wanted to yell back at him, I wanted to unleash a tirade that was dotted here and there with profanity, I wanted him to know how much I hated him and that I prayed for his death every night. And I didn't merely want him to drop dead, I wanted him to suffer as no man has before, not even Job. There were so many things that I wanted to say to him, that I needed to say to him, but the words reached my throat and seemingly died.

I took a deep breath and started to move forward, keeping my eyes on him the whole while, to ensure that he didn't see me. He was sobbing into his hands, the knife was hanging limply, in a way that suggested that he was on the verge of dropping it. There was a part of me that wanted to take it away from him, I almost tried to do so, but in the end, I decided that it was best not to take a chance like that. I tiptoed toward the carnival, and safety, and John, but just as I passed him, his head popped up and I screamed as he smiled at me and whispered "Boo."

"Oh, God," I whimpered, and tried to run, but quickly discovered that even walking was impossible at that moment.

He started to move toward me, humming a tune very softly, swinging the knife this way and that. "I'm afraid that there's no one listening," he said in that singsong voice that grated on my nerves. "It's just you and me, bitch, and pretty soon, once I've carved you up like chicken for the fryer, it'll just be me and I'll be able to get some sleep before it's time for my next show."

I backed up as he moved closer, shamed by the fact that I was whimpering, but I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. I could tell that he enjoyed the sounds that I was making, he even mimicked me a couple of times and I wished that I had the ability to shut him up for good. I kept walking backward, shaking as I did my best to keep from crying, and the next thing that I knew, I backed into something that was very big and smelled of cotton candy.

I turned around and started beating my fists against the thing that I'd run into, crying and begging for my life, when suddenly something encircled my wrists and started to say my name. It was a voice that I recognized, one that I had no need to fear, and I slowly opened my eyes and saw that John was crouched down in front of me. We weren't out in the middle of nowhere, we were in the center of the carnival, surrounded by tents and attractions and a whole slew of people who were staring at us like we were a couple of cuckoo birds.

"Oh, God, I look like I'm completely nuts," I whispered, feeling my face burning as my eyes filled with tears. "But I didn't imagine it, John. I was in a dark place and he'd found me, he was going to kill me…it all felt so real at the time."

He gathered me into his arms and ran his hand up and down my back. "You're not nuts, honey, not even close. I don't know what happened or how it happened, but it was completely real to you. The good thing is that he's not here, he's not going to hurt you and you're completely safe, okay?"

I burrowed my face into his neck and took a deep whiff of his smell, that soapy, slightly sweaty, fully male scent that I loved so much. I stayed that way for several moments, blissful in his presence and the strength that was in the arms that were holding me, and then I remembered that we had to walk home. Granted, the moon was full, so it did not matter that we hadn't brought a lantern with us…that is, it _hadn't_ mattered before, but it sure as hell did now.

I didn't want to tell him that I was scared to walk home, I didn't want to seem like a coward, but I was terrified to walk home. I knew that the light from the moon wouldn't make things better, my hand clutched tightly in his wouldn't make things better. There was nothing that would make that trip any better, but I was going to have to buck up and take it anyway, wasn't I?

"I've got an idea that'll make this night even better," John said, smiling down at me before he bent and kissed my cheek. "Let's stop by Lefty's and have a burger and fries, and then we can stay the night in that motel that's on the way out of town. Does that sound like a good idea to you?"

It sounded wonderful, but I didn't want him to think that we had to waste money on frivolities just because I'd gotten spooked by my overactive imagination. "I would love that, John, but wouldn't that be a waste of money?"

He shook his head at me and kissed the tip of my nose. "We've got plenty of money for a night out," he assured me. "Now then, I'm hungry, let's go get a burger."

* * *

There were probably those who'd turn their nose up at the Sleep-In Motel. They would say that it was outdated, that it lacked all the amenities of the newer businesses, and I suppose that they'd be right, but I liked it just the same. It was clean, it smelled of the fresh cut flowers that were on the dresser, and the bathroom was spotless and smelled, very lightly, of bleach. Yes, it wasn't the prettiest or fanciest establishment, but it was clean and that mattered more to me than a bunch of newfangled doodads and geegaws.

The hamburger at Lefty's had been particularly delicious tonight, John and I had each ordered the biggest one that they offered. We'd shared a large basket of French fries and he'd had a fountain vanilla Coke while I'd enjoyed a fountain cherry Pepsi. I'd felt like a glutton after that meal, but it had been a good feeling, one that put a smile on my face as we signed in at the Sleep-In Motel as John and Marilyn Wallace.

John was in the restroom, washing out his clothes in the bathtub, so that they would be fresh tomorrow. I intended to do the same to my clothing once he was done, but for the moment I was laying on the bed, pressing my face against the blanket and taking a deep breath, to ensure that it was as clean as it seemed to be. I smelled detergent and immediately felt better. This place was well worth the small price that we'd paid for the room. We would have to be sure to leave the maid a generous tip when we left tomorrow.

The bathroom door opened very slowly, and John walked out wearing his undershirt and his boxer shorts. My goodness, he could turn red, and he made his way to the other side of the bed and crawled beneath the covers without saying a word. There was a part of me that wanted to be offended by his behavior, but I knew that he was feeling self-conscious and I decided that I wouldn't push the issue.

I took off my shoes and placed them next to his boots on the floor, along with my pantyhose, and made my way into the bathroom. I was pleased to see that he'd squeezed all the water out of his shirt and trousers, and that he'd cleaned up the mess that he'd made on the floor as well. I washed out my dress and squeezed it until all the water was out of it, then I did the same to my brassiere and my panties. That left my slip and I decided that I would wear it to bed as my pajamas. The silky material would feel sublime against my skin as I slept, and I imagined that John would enjoy running his hands over it as well.

He turned his head to look at me as I walked out of the bathroom and I could see the way that his throat was working as he struggled to swallow. He always made me feel beautiful, desirable, and I hoped that I left no doubt in his mind that he was just as attractive to me as I was to him. His face turned red as I reached the side of the bed and he held back the covers so I could slide in beside him.

He snuggled me close, just like he always did, and I could tell by the expression on his face as he rubbed his hands up and down my back that he enjoyed the silky texture of my slip. He murmured sweet things to me, like how beautiful I was, how good I felt laying so close against him, and how he'd be happy to hold me for the rest of his life. I shimmied up and down against him and pressed my lips to his…and then we were interrupted by the most godawful sound that I'd ever heard.

I'd been dimly aware of creaking bedsprings and heavy breathing coming from the room next to ours, but I'd foolishly believed that they would be finished by the time that we were in bed. Apparently, they'd just been getting started and now things were getting hot and heavy. Those bedsprings were gyrating out a tune that was like _When the Saints Go Marching In_ and each _twang_ was accompanied by the woman crying out in ecstasy while the man grunted his pleasure. On top of all of that, the headboard had started banging against the wall. All in all, they were making one hell of a racket, and I might have laughed, had I not seen the look that was on John's face.

"Oh, no, he's hurting her something fierce," he whispered, and it alarmed me to see that there were tears in his eyes. "I'd better go call the laws and have them lock him up before he gets away."

John had obviously forgotten that his clothes were wet, but that was the least of our problems now. "John, honey, that man's not hurting her. I know that she's making a lot of racket and it sounds like she's being murdered, but there are times, when a man and a woman really care for one another, that they make that kind of noise when they're making love."

He looked at me skeptically, but then the event next door reached its climax and as it did, the woman screamed "Yes, yes, oh, my GOD, yes!" I saw John blush then and when he hugged me close, I felt something that told me that all of that twanging and heavy breathing had aroused him. I knew that he was embarrassed that it had, but I'd explained to him, time and time again, that I didn't mind him getting hot and bothered over something that didn't involve me, just so long as I was the one that he wanted after all was said and done.

"Mae…can I tell you something?"

I smiled to myself and shimmied against him, feeling good, yet positively wicked as I heard him take a sharp breath and hold it. "Of course, you can, love."

"There's times when we're snuggling when I feel like making those noises that feller was making. And when I feel like making those noises, I want to make you make those noises too, because you like what I'm doing to you. Is it bad of me to think that way?"

I was the one holding my breath that time, and I released it with a smile and whispered, "No, sweetheart, that's not bad at all."

He held me tight against his chest, so tight that I could barely breathe, and kissed me all over my face. "Thank goodness, because I couldn't stop thinking about that and I was afraid that it was something that had to do with a man hurting a woman. I think sometimes how I'd like to be between your legs, with both of us naked and moving back and forth, but that's a bad thing, isn't it?"

I cupped his cheek with my hand and gently kissed him. "There are evil men who like to hurt women that way, but they're not all that way. Some men and women do that sort of thing just because it's expected of them, because they're married, and while it doesn't hurt the woman, she doesn't enjoy it either. Then there's those who are crazy for one another and can't wait to be with each other in that way. Guess what group we're in, sweetheart?"

He looked at me with wide eyes for just a moment, and then he held me close, boldly running his big hand over my backside. "I'm pretty sure that I've got it all worked out, darlin', but I think that we ought to give it a couple of tries, just to be sure."

A/N: I love citrusy cliffhangers, I hate citrusy cliffhangers, and there's a citrusy cliffhanger for your enjoyment, dear readers.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

October 5th, 1947

Tequesta, FL

Zachary Rosenberg had been a detective with the Tequesta police department for ten years and in all that time he'd never had to look at the sort of brutality that had been left behind at the Avery household. He'd always known that there was evil in the world, that there was a chance that carnage and mayhem could erupt, but having a theory was one thing, looking at it up close was another. It disgusted him, it made him ponder the state of humanity as a whole…he was just relieved that it didn't have him puking his guts out over the porch rail like Officer Porter was as that moment.

On one hand, he was grateful for the fact that the contents of his stomach were not being spewed forth for all to see, while on the other hand, he missed the days when he was so unaccustomed to the heinous acts that human beings were capable of that he couldn't help but lose his breakfast…or lunch…or dinner. It was a perfectly human reaction, to respond to the violent end of life by vomiting, yet most cops lost their ability to become violently sick after they'd witnessed a couple of murders.

From what he'd learned, George Avery had worked hard, providing a good living for his family, but he'd also been one of those rare husbands and fathers who made an effort to spend time with his wife and his children. A man who made that sort of effort deserved a better end than being found in the foyer, beneath the painting of Christ and His disciples, clutching a plain wooden cross with fingers that had all been broken. Zach recognized this as a mockery of George Avery's faith, he just wondered if the killer had noticed that Mr. Avery had enjoyed taking one last jab at his murderer, given that he had been kissing the cross as he died.

Mrs. Avery had passed from this earth crawling toward her husband. Her tongue had been cut out, presumably because she would not stop screaming, and one arm cradled her youngest daughter, Betty, while she reached toward George with her other hand. The murderer had carved an X into each cheek, and he'd also done the same over her eyelids, though those marks appeared to be postmortem. The poor woman gave the impression that she'd died screaming, and though Zachary wasn't a particularly religious man, he hoped that she had found some semblance of peace in her final seconds on earth.

The youngest of the family, their son John, was found in the closet of his bedroom. It was obvious that he had gone there to hide, and the killer seemed to have reacted to this move with frenzied anger. The boy had been stabbed and slashed over one hundred times and Rosenberg wondered if the murderer had treated him so harshly because he viewed the boy's actions as cowardice.

The word throughout the men was that the young woman with the mind of a small child had been stabbed through the heart, that she had been spared any other violations. Zach knew that was a blessing for her, to have not been terrorized beyond that single wound, but it hadn't really horrified her, to have received any injuries. The real terror had come from watching and listening to what had been done to her family, because the preliminary report from the medical examiner posited that she had been the last to die.

The eldest daughter, Lucy, was found upstairs in her room. The room was surprisingly neat for a teenage girl, with a place for everything and everything in its place. The walls were covered in pink and white striped wallpaper, the carpet was white and very plush…and everything had been speckled with blood. Lucy had been a beautiful blonde, with light blue eyes, but that was secondary now that she had been slaughtered. She was laying on her bed, her clothes were gone, and she'd been slashed and stabbed so many times that she was almost indiscernible as a human being.

Zach had requested a list of family and friends, especially those who might have owned a copy of the housekeys. There was no sign of forced entry, not at any of the doors, none of the windows, so either this monster had let himself in, or one of the members of the household had done so. Rosenberg leaned against the railing at the top of the staircase and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, having grown accustomed to the smells around him, and did his best to collect his thoughts.

"We're chasing the same sick bastard," a voice said suddenly, a self-assured, yet not at all patronizing voice said matter-of-factly. "His first job was in Rood, the Collins family, the second was the Myers family in Arundel, that one is mine to solve, and now he's hit the Avery's in Tequesta, which has fallen in your lap."

Zach opened his eyes and slowly raised his head, turning to look at a man that was almost as tall as he was, which was pretty tall, though he was built more like a football player, whereas Zach was agile and slender. It took some nerve to sneak into a crime scene, even if you were a cop, so he offered the other guy a smile and a handshake, when at any other time he would have given him the bum's rush.

"What's your name, detective?" Zach asked quietly, taking a tiny sip of his own steaming hot coffee.

"Robert Haskell," the burly man replied, taking a not so tiny sip of the brew that was mostly sugar and cream. "I didn't want to come in here and trample all over your scene, but I wanted to see if you would listen to me. I tried to talk to the detective from the murders in Rood, but he's made up his mind that it was a lone nutjob, even though the details are almost identical in each of our cases…the same details that are staring at you as we speak, Detective Rosenberg."

It was horrifying enough to know that there was a sick son of a bitch wandering around out there who'd destroyed one family so thoroughly, but to know that he'd done it to three, to know that he'd slaughtered fifteen people…that was unspeakable. Of course, there was a chance that this Haskell was someone who had a screw loose, but Zach was pretty sure that he was on the level. There was a good deal of work to be done, and in order to get started, they were going to have to fetch one other person.

"Well, Detective Haskell, would you prefer to make the drive to Rood behind the wheel or riding shotgun?"

John's POV

I loved the slip that Mae was wearing to bed. It went to her knees and was silky and white. I could feel my palms snagging on the material as I ran my hands up and down her back and I reckoned that maybe I oughtn't to have been touching something that was so soft and fine…but if that was the case, I'd never be able to touch Mae in any way at all, and I was too selfish to give that up.

I was a little embarrassed, knowing now why that man and woman had been raising the dickens in the room next to ours. I suppose that I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, but what I'd seen those months ago had burned into my brain. Now, it was difficult for me to think of those goings-on without thinking that the man was hurting the woman…and yet, at the same time, I'd been roused by what I'd heard and that had shamed me, until Mae had told me that it was okay to feel that way.

I could feel Mae's breath on my neck, warm tickles that raised the hair on my arms and made me get the goosepimples, even though it wasn't cold in the room. Lord Almighty, she was the most beautiful woman that I'd ever seen in my life, and here I was, holding her in my arms and running my hands over her body. She hadn't even minded when I'd taken hold of her backside in my hands, and sakes alive, I'd never felt anything that filled my hands as nicely as her bottom did.

She touched my neck with her lips, kissing in one spot, then another, and I was starting to get roused again. She moved against me, touching me down below with her softness, hooking her leg 'round the back of my thighs. Ah, she was so warm, and she kept pressing against me. This was unlike the sort of things that we'd done before, and there was still a tiny part of me that wondered if I ought to be doing what I was doing, but it was just a little voice that shook its finger at me and told me to stop this tomfoolery right that moment.

I was kissing her on her lips, nibbling on the bottom one, just the way she liked me to do, and I don't know what it was that came over me, but I slid my hand up from her waist and placed it, real gentle like, on her breast. My goodness, I'd never felt anything that soft in my life. She got real still for just a minute, but then something told me to brush my thumb over her nipple, and when I did that she cried out my name and made me scared as all get out that I'd hurt her.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mae darlin', I didn't mean to hurt you" I said breathlessly, and started to move away from her, only to have her grab hold of me and press her lips against mine.

"That wasn't a cry of pain, John," she whispered, holding my face in her hands and kissing me until I was just about ready to burst. "It felt good…damned good…and I wanted to let you know how you were making me feel."

Well, now, that made me puff up my chest, but only for a moment or two, because I didn't want to get to feeling all prideful and such. I studied her for a moment, then I started pressing kisses to her throat, which arched backward, just like I'd known it would. I kept touching her with my lips, then when I reached the strap of her slip, I gathered all my courage and lowered it, pushing further down, until her breast was uncovered.

Oh, mercy, that was one of the prettiest things that I'd ever seen in my life. For just a moment all that I could do was stare at it, and then I slowly reached out my hand, making sure that she nodded at me before I touched it. It was soft as satin, just the way that I'd known it would be, but there was a little bit of a heft to it as well when I held it in my hand. I made her moan and groan by rubbing my thumb across her nipple, then got an idea that made me blush, but it certainly revved me up as well.

I wasn't sure how to go about doing such a thing, so I went nice and slow, lowering my head and licking her nipple, then kissing it, and finally, for some reason, taking it into my mouth and suckling the way a babe would. My goodness, she really liked that. She moaned my name, she groaned and panted, and spread her legs wide. I pulled down the other strap of her slip and repeated my actions, while my thumb and forefinger took hold of her other nipple and made sure that it was cared for as well.

"John," she whimpered, saying my name again and again. I could tell that she liked that a lot, that it was giving her those shivers that she'd told about. I kept on kissing her, stroking her, plucking on her and suckling her until she was moving all over that bed and making the bedsprings twang. I was pretty sure that I had everything well in hand, that there was nothing that could surprise me, but then she laid a kiss on me that I felt to the tips of my toes and removed my undershirt, none too gently, and went to work on my nipples.

It was my turn to moan and groan as she kissed and teased and sucked on me. Land sakes, I never even knew that a man and woman could do these sorts of things together, but Mae and I had and we'd both liked it just fine. I didn't know what kind of shape Mae was in, but I was swollen up and felt a need to be inside of her. I reckoned that this was what they meant when they said you were "hornier than a two-peckered goat". Of course, I hadn't known what "horny" meant for most of my life, but I dang sure felt that way now.

I don't know where in the world I got the inclination to do so, but something told me to run my hand up Mae's slip, underneath it, until my palm slid over her bare backside. Oh, Lord, but I was nervous. I looked at her closely, to be sure that she wasn't giving off any kind of signal that meant no, but she spread her legs a little further apart, as if she was inviting me in.

I took a deep breath and gathered up all my courage, then slid my hand around to the front, using my middle finger to slip into something that was wet and warm and felt even softer than her slip. I continued to rub on her and at some point I found something that made her rise up off the bed, crying out my name, and as I continued to rub on it she went to pieces beneath me. Now, I'll be honest, all of this was a little scary for me, but then she took off my shorts and pulled me on top of her, just like the bad man had been, and I didn't know what I ought to do.

I knew what I wanted to do. The need for that part of me to be in that part of her was almost driving me crazy. I had my face in her neck, breathing deeply, when I felt her take hold of me and slide the tiptop of that part of me against her hot, wet silkiness. I moaned her name, I gritted my teeth, then I made a sound that didn't make any sense at all when she grabbed hold of my hind end and started pushing me inside that warm, slippery, delicate and very tight lady's part. Nothing in my life had ever felt as good as that did and I reckoned that there would be very little, if anything, that ever came close to it again.

I was embarrassed for just a minute, because I didn't know what to do, but then nature must have taken over, because I propped myself on my elbows, so I wouldn't squash her, and then I started moving. In and out between her legs, feeling better than I ever had before when I heard her moan, groan and whimper as I started to move a little faster, a little harder. I kissed her as we moved together as one. I liked the feel of her fingernails biting into my back.

She was moaning loud by that time and so was I. Those old bedsprings were twanging, and the headboard was bouncing off the wall. I was so close to something, it was going to feel amazing, and then Mae started screaming my name, she sank her nails deeper into my back and arched up against me, squeezing me down below in a way that was amazing. We moved like that again and again and then something started happening to me.

It was almost there as I moved faster and faster, and finally it got there. Pleasure that was unlike anything that I'd ever known before took hold of me. I surged into her one last time, then it was like I was frozen, and I cried out her name as she lifted herself onto me and squeezed, over and over again, until neither one of us could move. I rolled over onto my back, taking her with me, and smoothed back her hair, kissing her forehead very gently and whispering her name and that I loved her very much.

* * *

Detective Mike Brady had just about had his fill of the Collins family case. Four family members slaughtered, one missing, presumed dead, but that damned guy from Arundel, Robert Haskell, wouldn't let it go. He was sure that the three were related, Rood, Arundel and Tequesta, and he was doing his best to convince Zachary Rosenberg to join the cause.

Mike couldn't imagine that there was one sick bastard roaming around getting his jollies slaughtering families this way…but it was a hell of a lot more disturbing to think that there were three nutcases on the loose. Maybe it was a theory that ought to be investigated, maybe, hell, he _knew_ that it needed to be looked at. He just hated giving Haskell anything else to be right about. Sometimes he wondered if the big slob was psychic…that is, he would have wondered if he'd believed in that bullshit.

Hmm…maybe it wasn't bullshit after all. He'd been thinking about the cases, along with Haskell and Rosenberg, and then voila, like magic, they were standing outside of his office. He had the crime scene photos from the Collins house on one board, the Myers family were on the middle board, and bringing up the rear was the Avery family. They were all gruesome, they were all brutal, and they all followed the same playbook…all except for one.

He knew that Mae Collins' body had never been found. They'd searched far and wide, through every type of terrain and they hadn't found a single sign of her. That made Mike think that she was still alive out there, but how in hell had she managed that? Everything said that this guy worked by himself, so how had he managed to keep control of everyone else, but one woman managed to give him the slip? It didn't make a damned bit of sense, but maybe, with the help of Haskell and Rosenberg, he could put all the pieces together. And then, maybe he could help them solve their cases.

"Well, let's get started," he said, a rude greeting that was made more so by the fact that he grabbed a cup of coffee and a Danish and didn't offer anything to his new co-workers. Haskell looked at Rosenberg, who smirked and narrowed his eyes, and then the two of them cleaned out everything in sight, pointing to Brady's retreating back as they did so, swearing on his good name that he'd told them to help themselves.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Mae's POV

John was snoring softly in my ear, he had me wrapped up tightly in his arms, and I could see by the thin line of light shining through the curtains that he had a smile on his face. My dear, sweet man, who would have ever believed that we could find so much joy, so much pleasure, such a closeness in what we'd just done? I couldn't compare the second time to the first, because other than the basic mechanics, there were no similarities to be found. I'd long suspected that I would enjoy being with John, but I'd had no idea that I would feel what I did.

It was strange, to have looked at him every day for as long as I had, yet I hadn't really known his body before last night. There'd been so many things that were familiar to me, but now I knew so much more. We'd long been content with one another, we'd been sweet and lovey-dovey, but now we were intimate and I'd loved every moment that we'd spent coming together, two becoming one, and we were now two again, but not as separated as we'd been before last night.

I'd never doubted that I could find pleasure with a man like John, not once I'd gotten to know and love him, but the doubts, the fears had always been there, lingering and taunting me in the back of my mind. I don't know how it was for every woman who'd ever been violated the way that I had been, but for me, it had seemed like I would relive the horror from the past over and over again, every time that I let a man touch me.

There had been some hesitancy from John as he'd first began to touch me, but once he'd gotten the hang of it, once he'd figured out that I enjoyed it, that I wasn't going to push him away, he'd found our rhythm and taught it to me. He'd showed me what it was like to be touched by a man who not only wanted you, but who loved you and wanted you to know nothing but pleasure. Every woman deserved a man like John to make love to her…but they were going to have to find their own, because he was mine.

Golly, I was hungry. I wanted more of John as well, lots more, because there were things that I was eager to try with him, but right now I wanted breakfast at Lefty's. I wanted biscuits topped with sausage gravy, I wanted a couple of eggs, fried over-medium, I wanted a big patty of hash browned potatoes, and I wanted a whopping glass of orange juice. It was six-thirty in the morning, Lefty's was sure to be open, the only question that was left to be answered was whether I could wake up John?

Hmm, how should I go about the task of waking my lover? I didn't really want to employ sensuality, because that would be the work of a tease, given that I was hungry for food, not for loving. John never woke up in a bad mood, so there really was no right or wrong way to go about waking him up, but I wanted to find the way that would keep that smile on his face without it faltering for even a second.

I started to lay my hand on his chest, to tickle him a little bit, but I decided that it would be better for me to loosen the hold that he had on me a little bit and lay my palm against his cheek. It took several moments of patient waiting, but eventually he opened his eyes and saw that I was watching him. Well, I hadn't been successful. His smile had faded, but only for an instant, and then it was back in place.

"Good-morning, sunshine," he said in a scratchy voice. "I sure like seeing your face when I open my eyes."

I brought my fingertip down to my lips, kissed it and pressed it to his. It was odd, really. I never would have thought that I would be so romantic with the man in my life. I knew that my mother and father cared for one another, but I can't recall any time in my life when they acted lovey-dovey with one another, unless my father had been drinking beforehand. It was nice to have someone to be loving to and loving with, without any alcohol being involved.

"There's a lot that I want to talk to you about, sweetheart, but not 'til we're somewhere private," John continued. "What do you say we get some breakfast at Lefty's and then we'll head home?"

Hmm…I never even had to open my mouth.

* * *

The Collins home had been boarded up ever since the detectives had finished their work in June. That hadn't stopped the vandals from busting through the boundaries, whether it was the boards or the glass in the windows. That was the way that it always was, for all the talk of respect for the dearly departed, people could always be counted on to treat them indecently. It was something that boggled Robert Haskell's mind, but that was something that happened on a regular basis.

He supposed that he ought to have been grateful for the broken windows. He knew that the lingering smells were going to be enough to turn his stomach, in spite of all of the time that had passed, but they would have surely made him vomit if they'd been cooped up inside for all of this time. He slipped on a pair of gloves and finished breaking one of the boards across the front door, then slowly made his way inside, followed closely by Detective Brady and Detective Rosenberg.

Yes, there were the hints of urine and feces underlying blood and gore and the scent that was unique to human terror. The victims had suffered horribly before they'd finally found release in death. It didn't matter that the bodies had long been removed, that they weren't there for Detective Haskell to see. Firstly, he had seen the aftermath in Arundel, and he imagined that the scene in Rood had been eerily similar. Secondly, no one had scrubbed the pools of blood or the outlines of where each victim had been found. Thirdly, Detective Haskell believed that murder victims left a trace of themselves where they'd died and there were voices calling to him from all corners of the room.

He'd had family members of those who'd been butchered ask him why someone would do something like what had been done in this home. He did not know why they expected him to have an answer, as if at some point in his life he'd crawled into one of these sick fuck's reptilian brain and learned what made them tick. All that he knew was that they lacked the essential parts that made up a human being. He didn't know how long they'd been without them, but they weren't there, and they never would be again.

He went to the spot where each murder had taken place, forcing himself to kneel and examine each one. The blood that had been spilled was no longer red, but it still had a metallic odor. He knew from the report that he'd read where each body had been found, he knew what had been done to each victim, all except for Mae Collins. She had seemingly disappeared into thin air, but he knew that such a thing wasn't possible, and he would find a trace of her if he looked.

Detective Brady and Detective Rosenberg were moving through the house, discussing the scene, taking notes, and Haskell heard them moving upstairs. That seemed like the best place to look for clues, but Detective Haskell doubted that Mae Collins had leapt from the second story to the ground, and surely, she would have been found if she'd hidden under her bed. What interested him was the door in the floor of the pantry, the one that led down into the cellar.

It was a tight fit for him, but he managed to climb down into the cellar. It was a bit cooler down there and there were numerous shelves that still held home canned vegetables, fruits and meats. There were shelves everywhere that you looked, except for the staircase that offered a way out of the cellar and into the hall and what looked to be an old coal chute. Haskell opened the door and looked inside and found a remnant of Mae Collins.

He theorized that she had been holding onto the top of the chute and had been dragged out, but by whom? Logic suggested that the killer had found her and pulled her out, but if that was the case, where was all the blood? The murderer would have been in a frenzy, he would have slashed her with his knife until he was breathing hard, until he was exhausted, so there must be another explanation to what happened to Mae Collins.

John's POV

I was a big ox, I'd heard that more than once in my life and I wondered how someone like me could suddenly feel so light, like his feet weren't touching the floor anymore. I reckoned that it had a good deal to do with the loving that I'd had with my sweetheart. I'd gone through my life believing I'd never be loved, thinking that I'd never find anyone who'd want me, but I'd been wrong and boy, was I happy about that.

I tried not to think about the way that Mae looked when she was naked as a jaybird, or the sounds that she made while we were loving, or the way that she had felt. Shoot, I tried to keep all of them things out of my mind, because it was mighty hard for me to do my work if I was thinking on those things, but I just couldn't get them off of my mind, no matter how I tried to do so.

Mr. Tuttle had charged me with putting prices on the new batch of canned goods that had come in that morning. I was cutting open each new box, stamping the price on top of the can and placing it in a cart that I'd wheel around to the canned goods aisle once I was done, to put them on the shelves. After I was done, I'd break down each box and set it to the side in my first cart. It was work that required all my attention and that was why I had to concentrate on it instead of my lovely gal.

Once I put my mind to it, I was able to get all of that unpacking and stamping done in no time at all. I stowed my boxcutter in the back room, like Mr. Tuttle had told me to, and then I wheeled my cart filled with stamped cans to the aisle where they would go up on the shelves. I'd brought along a little stepstool as well, so that I could reach all the way back on the top shelves, and I started my work, moving the older cans to the front so they would sell first, when I heard a voice below me.

"Hey! Doofus! Does it always smell like shit in this place, or is it just because you're here?"

I stopped what I was doing and blinked, thinking that I must have misheard what was said. I looked down and saw a lad of about thirteen looking up at me. He had mean looking blue eyes and there were three other boys with him. "Umm, my name's not 'Doofus', young man, it's John and I hadn't noticed any unpleasant smell…..."

"His name's John!" the young man said with a laugh, poking one of his buddies in the side. "No wonder it smells like shit in here!"

They all laughed like he'd just told the funniest joke that any of them had ever heard…well, all of them except the boy in the back of the crowd. His clothes weren't as nice as theirs were, and he seemed to be a little embarrassed by the whole situation. He wasn't defending me, but his laughter wasn't nearly as raucous.

It had been a while since I'd had to deal with people treating me this way. My first instinct was to let their words land on me like bees with their stingers out, to shrink away from them and cry, but why should I let them have the upper hand? They were just a group of bratty boys and my days of letting anyone hurt me were long gone.

"Do you have any business here, or have you just come in to make a nuisance of yourself?" I asked, stepping down off my stepstool and moving close to him, until we were standing face to face…well, his face was more in line with my stomach. "This is not a social place, young man. It is a place that provides goods to those who need them, so if you and your friends don't intend to spend money you need to move along."

I was not used to standing up for myself, but I had to admit that it felt good. I was a grown man, I shouldn't have to take any guff off another man, and I sure didn't have to put up with lip from a kid. I could tell that there was going to be more trouble, that feeling was in the air, but I wasn't going to back down and I wasn't going to let them intimidate me.

"Now, that's no way to treat your customers, is it shit boy?" the mean one continued, looking back at his friends to be sure that he had their complete attention. "Why would I want to spend any money in a place where I'm treated so rudely?"

There was a crowd of people gathering around us and I heard one of them mention that they were going to go get Mr. Tuttle. Oh, this was bad, I might lose my job, but I'd made up my mind to hold my ground and I was going to do it, come hell or high water.

"Well, young man, I tend to treat people the same way that they treat me, so if you feel like I'm being rude, I reckon that you ought to look at the way that you're treating me. And after you've looked long and hard at the way that you behave, you can decide whether or not you want to spend any money."

I could hear murmuring throughout the crowd that had gathered, but I didn't know if they were backing me or not. It was no secret in town that this kid's family had a lot of money and influence. I was liable to lose my job for speaking up, but I'd had all that I was going to take. I wasn't going to duck my head and shuffle my feet anymore, and they were going to have to accept that.

"You will never be the same as me, you retarded freak!" the boy yelled, knocking over a stacked display of creamed corn. "I'm somebody, you're nobody and I wouldn't give you a fucking quarter for anything in this shithole!"

Things got quiet and I realized that Mr. Tuttle had placed himself in the center of the crowd. "You ought to watch your language, young man," he said calmly. "I'm not going to bother to attempt to make you clean up the mess that you made, or apologize to those you've insulted and offended, but I want you and your friends to leave right now or I will phone the authorities and have you removed."

I'd never seen that look on Mr. Tuttle's face before and I was glad that he wasn't looking at me that way. I could tell that the bratty boy wanted to give some lip to Mr. Tuttle, but he lost some of his attitude when he got a gander of the crowd that had gathered 'round. They were all darned intimidating, but Mrs. Lewis had a look that said that she was going to go after his knees with her cane if he didn't shut his trap.

"Yeah, well who wants to buy anything in this old dump anyway," he said with a sneer, slowly backing toward the exit, with his friends reluctantly encircling him. "Y'all can all go to hell and you should expect a visit from my father before the day is through."

I laughed, a genuine belly laugh, and called after him, "Should we expect a talking-to from your daddy, or is he gonna give us a whupping for picking on his baby boy?"

I wasn't used to being at the center of attention in a good way, but it felt darned good, just as good as standing up for myself. There was a new John hanging around the place and I really liked him…I just hoped that Mae liked him too.

* * *

Mike Brady had found a photo of Mae Collins that looked like it had been taken a couple of years before. She hadn't been the beauty that her sister was, but she'd had big eyes that would have made a man look twice and a full set of lips that were made for kissing. All in all, Josephine would have had the boys chasing her from the start, but the smart man would have given Mae a look and hope that she would give him a chance.

He was having copies made of the photo and they would distribute them through Rood, Arundel and Tequesta. There were three numbers that could be called if anyone had any tips about the whereabouts of the missing Collins girl and a fifty-dollar reward if anyone's information led to her recovery. The three of them were good detectives, there was no doubting that, but there was no one in this world who knew more about this sick son of a bitch than the woman who'd lived.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Loxahatchee, FL

October 21st, 1947

A man stared in disbelief at the poster that had been displayed in the window of the only café in town. He knew that face, he'd made that face bleed, he'd made that mouth scream. She'd been his, she was part of his first show, she was supposed to have died that night, but the one called Josephine had sacrificed herself and in doing so had incurred his wrath. Yes, the one called Mae had escaped, but he'd always assumed that she'd died. But if that was the case, if she was a pile of bones somewhere, why were the police putting so much effort into finding her?

She was not the most desirable woman that he'd ever had, her sister had been one of the most gorgeous women that he'd ever laid eyes on, much less his hands, but Mae had been pretty in her own way. She'd fought in a way that had got him all riled up. He liked for them to fight, knowing that there was no way in hell that they were going to be able to get away from him…but she had, and now it seemed that she was still giving him the slip.

Nasty bitch, who did she think she was to still be alive? The climax of his show, the angelic Josephine, had left this world before she was supposed to. She had chosen an early death, preceded by a hellish amount of pain, just to save her inadequate sister and now he had to look at a picture of the worthless cunt who'd alluded him. It infuriated him to think that she was out there, alive and well…and yet, at the same time, it stoked the fires that compelled him to hunt.

They were offering a hefty reward for information leading to her, and he could use the money, but if he found her…no, _when_ he found her, he'd be damned if he was going to turn her over to the authorities. He had plans for her, there was a show to be finished, and the thought of what he would do to her almost made him forget himself and do something that was very inappropriate right there in front of the café, but thankfully he remembered what was proper before he did something that he would regret.

Back in Jupiter, FL

Mae's POV

John had stood up for himself, he'd refused to be bullied and I was so proud of him. I just wished that I could have been there to see him in action, but I'd been steadily working through the line of people at my register when it had happened. It was the talk of the store afterward and everyone was praising John. He wasn't used to so many people applauding him and that caught him off-guard, plus he fully expected Mr. Tuttle to fire him. It warmed my heart, to see the smile that was on his face when he realized that there were so many people in the community that supported him…and that his job was safe and sound.

He was floating on a cloud as we walked home that night, holding my hand and stroking my palm with his thumb. It was obvious that he wanted to tell me the story again, having already done so three times, so I encouraged him to do so and smiled at the excitement in his voice. It didn't even bring him down that those brats had called him hateful names and it made me happy to know that he was so overjoyed that they couldn't burst his bubble, no matter what they'd said or done.

We fixed dinner together once we were home, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, buttered corn and sourdough biscuits. The food was delicious, it always seemed to taste better when we cooked it together. John turned the conversation toward the events of my day, but they seemed a little dull compared to his. We cleaned everything up after we were finished eating and then we went inside the bus to snuggle and smooch and anything else that seemed like a good idea at the time.

"I wish that you could have seen me being brave," John whispered, gathering me close in his arms and kissing me until I was breathless. "That would have been the best thing of all, if you'd seen me standing up for myself"

I kissed him back, nibbling his lips and slipping the tip of my tongue inside of his mouth until I heard his breath stop, then shudder in his throat. "I see you being brave all of the time," I reminded him. "It would have been wonderful to see you standing up to those brats, but you did it without me there, you drew strength from yourself, and I think that's wonderful, sweetheart."

He thought about that for a moment, then he swiftly rolled me over onto my back and gave me one of those kisses that gave me butterflies in my stomach and made my toes curl tight against my feet. He seemed to be emboldened by the events of the day in several ways, and so far, this was my favorite, though I was pretty sure that there were even better things to come before the night was through.

Tequesta, FL

October 25th, 1947

There was nothing that Zachary Rosenberg hated more than working a phone line. He had been stationed at a phone for the past two hours and in that time he had received at least one hundred calls, seventy-five who were from citizens who were undoubtedly crackpots, twenty from those who claimed to have psychic powers and five who were pretty sure that their neighbors were hiding Mae Collins in their basements because they could hear her talking to herself after it got dark, or because they saw a naked woman frolicking on the front lawn at midnight, or because she was making pleas for help in the leaves that she was supposed to be raking.

He had a splitting headache, but his pain was nothing compared to that of Detective Brady. Michael was a very nice man in addition to a superb detective, but the demons of his past haunted him daily. Zachary was familiar with his own torments, and he knew that Detective Haskell was troubled as well, but they were better at tamping down their temper and outbursts than Detective Brady was.

Zachary had experienced a normal and loving childhood. His parents had divorced when he was quite young, which was an enormous scandal, but other than that, everything had been normal, if a tad bit sterilized. He knew that Detective Haskell had grown up with a father that was a drunk and a degenerate gambler. He, thankfully, did not display a predilection for either of those habits. Detective Brady was a product of a broken home, torn apart by alcoholism and physical abuse. The violence, surprisingly enough, had come from his mother and Zachary thought that Michael showed remarkable resilience and strength for having grown up without a hatred, or, at the very least, a complete lack of regard for women.

The phone rang shrilly in his ear, pulling Zachary out of his psychological musings with a start. He answered on the third ring, his voice a tad bit harsher than it would normally be. The speaker on the other end of the line had a female voice and barely spoke above a whisper. Zach considered asking her to speak up, but he was afraid that he would scare her off if he did, so he stuck a finger in his other ear and endeavored to hear her above the din in the room.

"I know where Mae Collins is, but she isn't going by the name anymore," the woman whispered, the sound going in and out, as if she was looking around while she spoke to him.

The woman's words sounded like a viable clue and Zachary started making notes on a piece of paper. "Where is the woman residing?"

The woman hesitated for a moment. "She's in Jupiter, Florida. I'm not sure where she's living, but I do know that she works at Tuttle's store and calls herself Marilyn Wallace."

Wallace made sense, given that her father's Christian name had been Wallace. "Are there any other details that you could give me?"

She hesitated a moment, then two. "Well, she's married to a fellow that lives somewhere around here. His name is John Wallace and he's simpleminded, but one of the kindest souls that you'll ever meet. He works at Tuttle's as well and they seem to be very happy together. I can hardly believe that Marilyn is this woman named Mae, but it's obviously her."

The fact that Mae changed her name makes perfect sense to Zachary, but why in the world would she get married? "And what is your name, ma'am…for the reward, you understand?"

The woman did not answer for several moments, but Zach can hear Glenn Miller's _Moonlight Serenade_ playing in the background and he knew that she was still on the line. "You may remain anonymous as far as the public is concerned, ma'am, but I need to know who you are. I may need to question you more thoroughly in the future, and therefore I need your name and your contact information."

She still didn't respond, and Detective Rosenberg was on the verge of hanging up the phone when he heard her whisper, "My name is Overmire," she said in a tone that was so soft that he could barely hear her. "Mrs. Ethel Overmire, of Jupiter, Florida."

John's POV

I loved Halloween; it was my favorite time of the year. I had all kinds of paper decorations that I put up and then I had a candle set that Mama had bought for me when I was a boy. It had two grinning jack o' lanterns, two ghosts carrying pumpkins and a black cat. I put the set out every year, but I never lit them, because I wanted them to last for years and years.

There was going to be a carnival in town on Halloween night and Mae and I were going to wear costumes. I was going to be going as Twisty the Clown and Mae had made up a costume that would turn her into Trixie the Clown. I was mighty proud of her for pushing that fear aside and turning herself into a clown, and I admired her in other ways too, because she looked mighty pretty and had a trick down that would have her handing out flowers to people at the carnival.

I had made a deal with Mr. Tuttle to carve bunches of pumpkins to display around the store, and he was going to let me bring three of them home with me five days before Halloween. I liked to carve the pumpkins, mostly with friendly faces, but a spooky one would make its way into the mix every now and then. There was going to be a haunted house inside the store, and a place to bob for apples, not to mention the popcorn and the hot apple cider.

Mae really was being a sport about Halloween. I knew that it wasn't her favorite holiday, she loved Christmas, but she acted excited about it because she knew that I was like a little kid. I just wished that we weren't too old to go trick or treat. That was something that I'd wanted to do for a long time, but I was way too old now. I was just going to have to make do with the candy and goodies that I got at the carnival. It didn't matter all that much anyway, because I had the sweetest treat already and I didn't have to share her with anyone.

Jupiter, FL

October 31st, 1947

Robert Haskell hated Halloween, it irritated him to look at people who had masks or paint on their faces. He wondered if they were trying to hide who they really were, he wondered if they were wanted for a crime and this was just a convenient way for them to hide in plain sight. He knew that he was being paranoid, he recognized the signs better than anyone, and he wished, not for the first time, that Detective Rosenberg had come to interview the woman who said that she knew Mae Collins.

It was hard to believe that Miss Collins could have survived the hours of evil that had been inflicted upon her family. He had worked a crime scene that was identical to the one in her home, and it was obvious that no one had stood a chance. The circumstances were the sort that would have disgusted most of humanity, but not the sick bastard that they were chasing. Haskell wasn't certain what made him tick, but he had no problem with putting him down when they found him, the same as you'd do to a rabid dog.

Mrs. Ethel Overmire had a little store on the edge of town and she opened the door before he had a chance to knock on it. She was shaking, her eyes were red, and it was obvious that she was about to come unglued. Detective Haskell greeted her, then, once she'd asked him to come in, he led her to the big, comfy chair that was covered by one of the ugliest afghans that he'd ever laid eyes on.

He took a seat on her couch, which smelled musty and had cushions that were lumpy, with springs sticking up that threatened to poke you in the backside. He declined her offer of tea or any other sort of refreshment and took out his notebook. There were some who preferred to work without one, but he liked to write down anything and everything that caught his attention.

"You conveyed to Detective Rosenberg that you are aware of the location of Miss Mae Collins, formerly of Rood. Is that correct, Mrs. Overmire?"

She looked around frantically and smoothed a shaking hand over her hair. "She doesn't call herself Mae Collins. She goes by the name Marilyn Wallace and she and her husband John work at Tuttle's Grocery."

It was nice to know that Mae had found some measure of happiness in this little town, if Marilyn Wallace was indeed Mae Collins, but Robert knew that Detective Brady was going to be pissed beyond words if he found out that she was hiding, living under a pseudonym, without letting the Rood police department know that she was alive and well.

"How sure are you that Marilyn Wallace is Mae Collins, Mrs. Overmire?"

"Do you have a photo of Mae Collins with you, Detective?" 

"I have a copy of a photo."

"Well, you bring that with you, and we'll go by Tuttle's where she's working and after you've had a good look at her, I'm pretty sure that you'll agree that she's Mae Collins. There's just one thing that I want you to promise me, Detective."

Robert could have said anything, he could have made her believe anything, but he wasn't given to playing people false. "What's that, Mrs. Overmire?"

"I want your word that she won't be hurt, neither her nor John. They're good folks and I won't stand by and see them abused in any way."

Robert could have pointed out to her that she was turning someone into the authorities, when she'd lived these past few months in peace, but there was no need to bring her hypocrisy to her attention. It was obvious that she cared for Mae and her husband and she was probably doing what she thought was best…though, the prize money undoubtedly helped loosen her tongue and her morals as well.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Overmire," he assured her. "I'm here to help her, not to harm her."

Mae's POV

We had one more hour left until closing time and then John and I would change into our costumes and go trick or treating. We weren't really going for ourselves; we'd gathered a large group of children to take around from house to house. The idea of going out and around in the dark wasn't all that appealing to me, but I knew that John was looking forward to going from one house to the other and making sure that all the children received plenty of candy.

I was surprised to see Mrs. Overmire stepping into my line, and what surprised me even more was that she was in the company of a large man in a black overcoat. I was positive that he was not one of her relations, they barely even seemed to be friendly with one another, yet it was obvious that they were together. Even stranger was the fact that Mrs. Overmire refused to look me in the eye, no matter how many times I smiled at her.

They finally reached the front of the line and I greeted them both in a friendly manner, but Mrs. Overmire barely muttered a hello in return and the gentleman pulled a picture out of his pocket and held it up beside my face. This was an odd experience, one that made me feel slightly uneasy…and then it dawned on me that it must have been something that was connected to Halloween. I was all set to call them out on it, but then the gentleman said something that made my heart stop, then start hammering out a ferocious beat.

"Good afternoon, Miss Collins," he said quietly, tucking the piece of paper back into his coat. "I hope that you'll be sensible and come with me quietly, Mae. We have a lot of questions that need to be answered and you're the only one who can give us the answers we need."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

November 1st, 1947

Jupiter, FL

Detective Haskell considered himself to be an excellent judge of character, someone who had a knack for studying a person and summing up who they were in a very short amount of time. He supposed that he'd been given an unfair advantage where Mae Collins was concerned, because he'd had the opportunity to study her bedroom, to get a feel of the young woman that she'd been before her life had been shattered. There was still a great deal of that personality in the woman that was sitting across from him, but she'd changed quite a bit as well.

She was a lovely woman, with exquisite brown eyes and lips that drew his eye with their fullness. Unfortunately, her eyes were shuttered, not luminous, as he imagined they could be. And her mouth, which had to have been arresting when she smiled, was turned down at the corners, was completely unwelcoming as she stared at him with a combination of malice, fear and distrust. Yes, there were hints of the woman that she'd been, but so much had been taken from her and she'd yet to reclaim it.

Robert didn't blame her for looking at him the way that she was. After all, she'd discarded Mae Collins in favor of Marilyn Wallace. She hadn't clutched at the woman that she'd been, she'd reinvented herself, she'd made a new life for herself, and now he'd shown up to destroy all her hard work. He represented the existence that held so much pain for her, it was a wonder that she could stand to look at him at all.

The man that she claimed was her husband, John, was sitting beside her, holding her hand beneath the table. It was obvious that he possessed a lower IQ than his wife, than most of those around him, yet Robert had rarely met anyone who was as kind and compassionate as Mr. Wallace. He had a capacity for love that far exceeded that of other human beings and it was a pure love, one that wasn't tainted by jealousy or that unconscious trickle of fear that the one that you adore doesn't love you in return. He seemed to be a bit befuddled by the fact that his wife loved him just as much as he loved her, yet he accepted her love simply because it was, and he didn't question why it was.

"Could you describe the murderer for me, Mae? I know that it will be frightening to do so, and I apologize for asking you to revisit that night for me, but we need your help if we're going to catch this monster."

He'd telephoned for an artist to compose an illustration as Mae described the killer and he sat in one corner of the room, with his drawing pad on his lap and his pencil at the ready. For one moment, Mae simply stared at him with an expression that one might bestow on a cockroach. He began to worry, to think that she would refuse to respond…but he ought to have known better.

"He's not a large man, like John or like you, Detective. He's probably at least five feet, eight inches tall and one hundred, fifty pounds. That doesn't sound like much to some, but he is very strong and can easily overpower people who are smaller than he is. His face is very angular, with a pointy chin and eyes that are a little sunken in and very close together."

"What color are his eyes?" Detective Haskell asked quietly, so as not to disrupt the picture that was forming in her mind.

"I suppose that you'd say that they're blue, but they're almost clear, like a couple of chips of ice. I don't know for sure what his hair looks like, because he was wearing a wig, but judging from his eyebrows, I'd say that it's light in color. He must have had bad acne when he was a teenager, because I could see the scars on his cheeks beneath his makeup."

Detective Haskell narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the right, certain that he must have misunderstood her. "He was wearing makeup that night?"

For a moment, he was certain that she looked amused, but then he saw that she was shaking with fear as she tried to smile. "Of course, he was," she said in a quivering voice. "He wouldn't have been much of a clown without makeup, would he?"

John's POV

I could have wrung that Haskell's neck for upsetting Mae the way that he had. I'd never had any bad feelings towards police officers before, but none of them had ever hurt anyone that I cared about before today. I reckoned that I'd get sent to Old Sparky if I laid my pinky finger on Haskell or any of the others, but I could stand that better than I could the sight of my chickadee's tears.

I didn't know much about life, but I did know that Mae didn't want to go back to that night, she didn't want to relive that hell, to feel all that pain and heartache, not to mention the fear. I had protected her before, I wanted to do it again, but how could I keep her from these things when there were police officers all around us?

One other thing that made me feel like I'd been stabbed in the gut was the fact that Mrs. Overmire was the one who'd pointed Mae out to the detectives. There was a pretty good chance that they would have found her anyway, but it was a blow to the trust between me and Mrs. Overmire, to know that she would turn on me and that she would turn on Mae. That was why she wouldn't look at me like she always had before. The guilt was eating her up and it would continue to do so, because she had done us wrong and I didn't think that we could ever go back to the way that we'd been.

The detective seemed to think that Mae was pulling his leg when she told him that the bad man had been a clown. He'd chuckled a bit and looked at us, waiting for us to laugh, and when we didn't, he got serious real fast and got the details about that horrible man who'd called himself Flick the Clown from Mae. There wasn't much that I remembered, but she seemed to have every detail in her mind, and I wondered if this was something that she suffered with every day.

"I don't know what he did with the other families, but he gained access into our home because my little brother, Ernest, loved clowns. I remember thinking how odd it was that there was a clown in our house, because it wasn't Ernie's birthday, but he was having a grand time leading the son of a bitch through our home. He showed him everything upstairs and downstairs…everything except for the cellar. What he didn't know, what we didn't know, was that Flick was disarming my father's rifle and he was bagging all my mother's knives. He hid all of the things that could have been used as weapons and then he pounced."

I heard a tremble in her voice as she said her brother's name and I held her hand, wishing that there was more that I could do to help her. I didn't like her putting herself back in that house, where she had been happy for so long, before that one night that had ruined everything for her. I supposed that she was going to go back in there to try to help find the bad man, but how much was she going to get hurt by doing so?

"He plunged a knife into my father repeatedly, and then he slit his throat. With my mother, he nearly decapitated her with that knife, and he arranged them in the chairs in the sitting room. He had a hold on my brother, Ernest, by his hair, the entire time. Ernie was crying at first, then he was screaming as he watched what was being done to Papa and Mama. My sister, Josephine, tried to call for the police, but the line had been cut. There was a pot of water boiling on the stove, to brew up some iced tea for dinner and I threw that at him, but I missed…..."

She stopped and took a deep breath, then blew it out, gently pounding one hand against her chest. I could see the way that her eyes were glistening and knew that she needed to have a cry, but she was bound and determined to keep those tears from falling. I started to rub my thumb on the palm of the hand that I was holding, and she scooted closer to me, so that I could put my arm around her.

"He had a length of rope with him, and after he'd knocked Ernie unconscious, he grabbed hold of me and Josie and tied our hands together with that rope. He plopped us down in the center of the floor, then told us to watch, because he had a show for us. He slapped Ernie repeatedly to wake him up, then he started stabbing him. Ernie screamed every time that knife went into him and that damned clown mimicked him. Josie and I tried to scream over both of them, to tell Ernie that we loved him, that it would all be over soon and as a finale to that show, as a way to shut us up, Flick got behind Ernie and slit his throat from ear to ear."

I saw that detective shudder when she said that last bit, and I wanted to give him what for, after all, he was the one that wanted to hear the story, but I kept my mouth shut. "He untied me after that and held me by my hair while he tied Josie to the arm of the chair that Mama was in. He dragged me up the stairs to my bedroom. He threw me on the bed and tied my hand to the railing. He used his knife to cut on me, all over my body, and then he raped me."

Lord Almighty, I was seeing everything that bad man had done as she told about it and it made my blood boil and my heart feel like it was bruised. I'd seen her after all of this, I'd figured out most of what had been done, but it was a whole different thing to hear it described to you. I wish that I had that cruel pissant there, so I could wring his scrawny neck, but he wasn't there, he wasn't going to be, and Mae needed me to be strong and steady for her.

"I was in a daze after that, a haze where everything hurt, and it was hard for me to hear. He stayed behind for a while to 'play' with me, but I don't remember what he did. I suppose that he got bored with me after a while, that or he was ready to move on to the next part of the show. Whatever his reason, he left me tied up and went downstairs to 'play' with my sister, Josie."

Detective Haskell looked like he was mad, but there looked like there were tears in his eyes as well. I was pretty sure that he wanted to tell Mae to stop, to give him a moment to get ahold on his feelings, but we weren't going to do that. She had started, she needed to finish, because she was going to be feeling all of this for quite a while and I wanted her to get through the whole story, so parts of it wouldn't hit her later.

"The sound was dim, but I could hear him doing something that made her shriek with pain. The sounds started as something that sounded human, but by the end she sounded like some sort of animal. After that, I heard her crying and begging for him to stop, and it sounded like her mouth was being held mostly closed with tape. I knew that he was raping her, the same as he'd done to me, and I started crying, because there was nothing that I could do to help her. I don't know how long it went on, but he shouted 'fucking bitch' when he climaxed, just as he had with me. After that, I heard him coming back up the stairs and into my bedroom."

I didn't realize that I was crying until quite a few tears had fallen from my eyes and onto my cheeks. It shamed me, to be crying like that when Mae was the one having to relive all of that pain, but Detective Haskell reached over and patted me on the shoulder and handed me a handkerchief so I felt a little better and I hated him a little less than I had.

"He dragged me down the steps, holding me by my foot so that my head would knock against every step. It was a wonder that he didn't knock me out or kill me. I wished that I was unconscious when I saw Josie laying on the couch, with that rag stuffed in her mouth. It was being held in place with barbed wire that had been wrapped around her head. He threw me on the floor, which had to have hurt like hell, but I nearly tore out my fingernails, scurrying across the floor to my sister. I held onto her hand and looked at her face, I thought about the life that we'd spent together, I leaned over and whispered in her ear that I loved her so much, and then that bastard grabbed hold of my hair and started whining about us ruining his game. My sister, God bless her, saw an opportunity and kicked him in his balls as hard as she could."

Mae stopped and smiled through the tears that were now freely flowing down her face. Detective Haskell handed her one of his handkerchiefs and she whispered her thanks, then continued her story. "Josie ripped that gag out of her mouth, she didn't even flinch, and she told me to run for my life, she insisted that I save myself and I ran. I knew that he would kill her for what she'd done, I knew that he would make certain that she suffered, but I ran. I opened the screen door, so maybe he'd think that I'd ran outside, and then I went into the pantry and down into the cellar. I knew there was that old coal chute in there, so I made my way inside and held on for dear life."

She stopped and climbed onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. I ran my hand up and down her back and it was then that I noticed that there were two other men in the room. They had on gold shields, so I knew that they were detectives. One of them reminded me of a tiger that I'd seen when I was with the circus. That big cat had never settled down, he'd just paced back and forth in his cage, snarling anytime you got too close, and this detective looked like he'd be the same way. The other one was nothing like the first one. He was tall, maybe taller than me, but he looked like a good wind would blow him away. He was leaning against the wall, listening to Mae tell her story with his eyes closed and a look that said that he wanted to punch something, while at the same time he cried his eyes out. All the detectives had some measure of those looks on their faces, but I reckoned that they would never do things like that where me and Mae could see them.

"I knew that I wasn't going to have enough strength to hold on until the sun came up," she continued. "I just hoped that I could hang on until he left. I was so sore and so tired, but I wasn't going to make it so that Josie gave her life in vain. I heard that murdering son of a bitch stomping around the house and screaming for me outside, but finally I heard Papa's pickup truck start up and leave and I knew that he was gone. I suppose that I could have slid out of that chute right away, but I stayed where I was, because I was afraid that he'd come back…and sure enough, the door at the bottom of the chute opened, only it wasn't Flick standing at the bottom."

I felt Mae take a deep, shuddering breath and she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "He told me that I could come down. He swore that he wouldn't hurt me, but I was past the point of believing that there was anyone in the world who wouldn't hurt me. I didn't answer him, so he reached up and took hold of my ankle and I came unglued, kicking and screaming and carrying-on. I remember him pulling me out of that chute, I remember begging him not to hurt me, then I fainted and didn't wake up for quite a while. John tended to my wounds, he kept me alive, he brought me to his home and that's all that you need to know, Detective, aside from the fact that we fell in love and we're married."

Detective Haskell sat still with his face in his hands for several moments, then he looked up at Mae. He looked like he was working over everything that she'd said, and he nodded and said, "You've been an enormous amount of help, Mrs. Wallace. Please forgive me for putting you through all of that, you showed a great deal of strength ma'am and with what you've given us, we have a good chance of catching this murdering bastard."

November 3rd, 1947

Rood, FL

They listened to the recording of the interview with Mae Collins, AKA Marilyn Wallace, several times, making a timeline of sorts on a blackboard. Chances were good that he'd followed the same schedule in Arundel and Tequesta. They had copies of the drawing of the killer sent to every newspaper and posted in every storefront, alerting people that the man would be wearing clown makeup and to steer clear of those who provided that sort of entertainment, especially one named Flick the Clown. There were phone numbers to call if the public had any tips and a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar reward was being offered for information that led to the apprehension of the vicious murderer.

"Have either of you ever dealt with someone like this before?" Detective Brady asked as he stared at the timeline, at the boards with each crime scene laid out picture by picture. "I mean, seriously, have you ever, even once, come up against someone that's as sick in the head as this son of a bitch?"

Detective Rosenberg smiled, a gesture that did not reach his eyes. "Yes, well, I never met him personally, but I believe that we can say that this man has nothing whatsoever on Adolph Hitler…that being said, no, I have never encountered a perp who's as deranged as this one seems to be."

Detective Haskell shook his head to indicate that he too had never encountered anyone that was as unhinged as this guy was. "We're going to get him," he said softly, but vehemently. "We've got the bastard's face and it's only a matter of time before we'll have him in a cell."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

November 7th, 1947

Jupiter, FL

There she was, just as bold as brass, punching buttons on a cash register as if she didn't have a care in the world. She wasn't supposed to be smiling at people, and she sure as hell wasn't supposed to be laughing. He had broken her, he had made her bleed, he had stolen something from her that she'd never get back, but she was acting like everything was fine and fucking dandy. It would have made him happy to jump over that counter and cut her to ribbons then and there, but that would be a colossally stupid thing to do and he damn sure wasn't stupid.

She was calling herself Marilyn, but he knew who she really was. It had been very kind of that old biddy, Mrs. Overmire, to spill her guts about the whereabouts of the woman who'd survived the massacre in Rood. Of course, he'd always assumed that the stupid bitch had succumbed to her injuries somewhere. It hadn't been as comforting a thought as looking back on her death by his knife would have been, but it had been better than a kick in the ass. Only now he knew that she'd survived, she'd _lived_, despite all that he'd done to her, she'd made it.

According to what he'd read, it had been some gigantic halfwit that had saved her. The moron had tended to her wounds, he'd cared for her and kept her safe. They'd formed a close bond, one that had led to marriage and that was one of the most baffling things of all. He'd all but ruined her cunt when he fucked her, he'd made sure that he'd left her where she could barely move, yet she'd apparently healed enough to marry some dimwit and possibly fuck him every night…it was a thought that boggled his mind.

They'd put out a drawing of him and he had to admit that the Collins bitch had a good memory, because it was one hell of a good likeness of him. That was why he was wearing a hat and a fake mustache. The time would come when he would want her to see him, but he wanted to hide a little longer. He'd discovered something interesting about the man that Mae worked for and he was wrestling with the notion of putting on a show or playing it smart and killing the Collins bitch, then moving on.

He'd discovered that Eugene and Selma Tuttle had three children, a daughter named Annie, who was seventeen, another daughter, who was a knockout, named Evie, who was fifteen, and a son named Howie, who was thirteen. One look at Evie had got his blood pumping and had made his pecker stand up and salute. He could have a very good time with the Tuttle family, he could put on one hell of a show, but did he dare with all the cops that were crawling around?

It was so hard to decide what to do, kill the Collins bitch or put on a show with the Tuttle family. He was willing to risk being caught for either of them, and he wasn't really all that worried, given that he'd been a cunt hair away from them from time to time and they'd yet to catch him.

He giggled as he ducked behind a tower of green beans. He was sure that the bitch had seen him, and he decided to double his fun. He moved over an aisle and waited until he was certain she'd seen him and then he hid behind a display of laundry soap. He was having so much fun, but he had things to do. He'd come back to see Mae…and then it dawned on him. That's what he would do, he would make her decide what would take place. Would she finish what they'd started, or would she offer the Tuttle's up for sacrifice instead?

He could hardly wait to see which one she would choose, either way he would win, and she would lose and that would show her for ruining his show, wouldn't it?

Mae's POV

I was feeling jumpy today, the slightest sound startled me, and I was certain that I wouldn't be able to make it through the day, but what other choice did I have? I wasn't going to go home and hide, hoping and praying that the murderer wouldn't find me. My identity was out in the open, I couldn't hide anymore, so I decided that I might as well go on with life like everything was completely normal. I changed my nametag to my real name, and I took my place behind my register, smiling and being friendly with everyone, just as I was expected to do.

I was ringing up a sweet elderly lady's groceries when suddenly I felt that tickling feeling on the back of my neck. Paired with a cold trickle that ran down my back. I glanced back over my shoulder and there he was, smiling at me for a moment before he ducked behind a display of green beans. I shook my head and blinked my eyes. It wasn't really him; I'd only imagined him.

My next customer was a mother with one child who was trying to throw everything out of the cart and another who kept asking for candy, then screaming like a banshee when she was told no. I had a feeling that the mother was simply waiting to get outside to her car before she wore them both out, and who could blame her? I'd just rang up a can of corn when I got that feeling again. I looked up and over and there he was. He waved at me, he blew me a kiss, and then he hid behind a tower of laundry soap.

My hands were shaking, my knees were wobbly, but somehow, I made it through the rest of the customers in my line. I even managed to greet each of them politely, with a smile on my face and tell them all to have a nice day as they were leaving. By the time that the last one was leaving I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I called to Mr. Tuttle that I needed a break and I ran to the ladies' room, tears streaming down my face and doing my best to keep from screaming. I made it into the second stall, lowered the seat on the toilet and climbed on top of it. After that, once I was certain that I was relatively safe, I gave in to the urge to sob like a baby.

I couldn't say how much time had passed, all I knew was that my eyes were puffy, I had a headache and I couldn't breathe through my nose because it was filled with snot. All in all, I was in one hell of a state and I didn't feel any better. I could have cried all damned day and all damned night, but that didn't change the fact that I had seen him, he was out there somewhere, and he was after me again.

Suddenly, the door to the restroom creaked open. I'd told Mr. Tuttle that he needed to put some lubricant on the hinges, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet, so whenever someone opened the door, it sounded like something out of a scary movie. My heart jumped, then started beating wildly in my chest. Oh, Lord…what if it was him? I was helpless in this bathroom stall, I had no weapons, except for my hands and feet and teeth, and I doubted that they would do much good against a knife.

The footsteps that entered the room were heavier than I expected them to be and when I peeked under the door at the shoes, I saw that they were a man's shoes and they were very large. Well, that excluded the killer, unless he was wearing shoes that were much too large for him, because I recalled this his feet were smaller. These feet looked like they were John's size, but those weren't his shoes, and I wondered who on earth it could be.

"This is Detective Haskell," a somewhat familiar voice said as the shoes stopped right outside of the stall door. "Are you alright, Mrs. Wallace?"

An overwhelming sense of relief filled me. Granted, this man was virtually a stranger to me, but I believed that he was sincere in his desire to help me. I reached out and unlatched the door, allowing him to slowly push it open and offer me his hand. It was odd to have another man take hold of my hand, but unlike most other men, he didn't frighten me. He helped me out of the stall, then offered me a handkerchief so that I could clean myself up.

"It's obvious that something frightened you, Mrs. Wallace. Do you feel comfortable talking to me about it?"

I dried my eyes and hesitated before I blew my nose. I couldn't say why it was so embarrassing to blow your nose in front of another person, but it always made me extremely self-conscious, and I couldn't believe that I had done something that was so private and personal in front of this man that I barely knew.

"You'll think that I'm cuckoo," I murmured, holding onto the handkerchief, because I knew that he wouldn't want it back in the condition that it was in. "Besides which, I've got to get back to work, the line must be to the back of the store by now…..."

"First of all, Mrs. Tuttle is manning the register and Mr. Tuttle has passed along instructions that you and John are to take the rest of the day off. Secondly, I will give the two of you a ride home. There's no need for you to walk since I'm here and besides which, it's starting to rain. Thirdly, there is very little that you could tell me that would have me thinking that you're a cuckoo, Mrs. Wallace."

John's POV

I loved to wake up in the morning and watch her sleep, especially since she'd started sleeping naked as a newborn babe. It still knocked me for a loop, to look at her, that beautiful woman, and know that she was all mine. There had been a part of me that had been a mite bit jealous of that Detective Haskell when we met him, because I was sure that he had eyes for her, but it didn't matter if he did, because she didn't have eyes for no one but me.

That didn't make a danged bit of sense to me. I wasn't handsome, I wasn't smart, I was never going to be able to give her riches. I suppose that I made her laugh from time to time and I loved her more than anything on this earth. I would take care of her as long as we were together, I would beat the tar out of anyone who tried to hurt her. I would never lay a hand on her unless I did so in a loving way. Looking at all of that, I suppose that I wasn't too bad of a catch. I just wished that I knew, that I could see, why she loved me the way that she did.

She was laying on her back with one arm bent over her head and for some reason both of her nipples were hard. One leg was stuck out straight, the other one was bent. I could only catch a glimpse of that sweetness between her thighs and that peep got me to thinking about things that were downright sinful in nature. I reckoned that I had no business thinking about doing such things, but my curiosity was starting to get the best of me.

I slid down on the bed, taking care to not wake her, and gently pried her legs apart. My goodness, she was beautiful all over and that part of her was a pretty color of pink that I'd never seen before. I didn't know what was driving me to do this, but something told me that I would like it and that she'd really like it, so I continued with my plan.

I opened her legs, I made a place for myself, and then I started to kiss her flesh. I started with her knees, kissing, nibbling, licking, and then I worked my way up to her thighs. I could smell the wildflower soap that she used when she bathed, it added to the pleasure of kissing and caressing her legs. She would murmur in her sleep every now and then, but she still hadn't woken up.

Golly, I didn't know what in tarnation I was doing. I was just letting my instincts take over, and they told me to put love bites on her thighs, nothing that would hurt her, just enough to make her feel good. Something told me that she liked what I was doing, because she opened her legs even wider and I got a whiff of something that was a mixture of wildflower soap and my beautiful woman.

I kissed further and further up, until I reached that part of her and I pondered whether I ought to do anything more and before I knew it, I was parting her and kissing her. I slid my tongue inside and loved her that way and the next thing that I knew, she was staring down at me, eyes sleepy, but filled with that look that they got when she was all hot and bothered.

"John, what are you doing?" she asked drowsily, though there was a whimper in her voice that said that she liked what I was doing to her.

"Shh, darlin', I'm just loving on you, that's all," I told her, then went back to the task that I was learning bit by bit, smiling as I did when she dug her feet into the bed and cried out my name.

November 8th, 1947

Port Salerno, FL

Jill Nolan looked down at the face that had haunted her nightmares for ten years. They had begun when she was sixteen, when he had raped her, when he'd mutilated her, tortured her and left her for dead in a drainage ditch. It had taken her ten years to remove his face and what had happened that night from her dreams, but now she was looking at him again and she knew that it wouldn't be long until the nightmares came back to haunt her.

She had convinced herself that he was in prison, even better was the thought that he was dead, but now she knew that he was alive and well and doing things that were even worse than what he'd done to her. She wondered if all his deeds would fall at her feet, because she could have reported him to the police, she could have told them what he had done to her, but she had been too ashamed. That was why she'd staggered home, sat in the floor and sobbed as soon as the door was closed behind her, then bathed five times to scrub him off and out of her body.

If she were to be perfectly honest, she would have to admit that he'd had some measure of control over her ever since that night. She couldn't sleep unless she left the bedside lamp on. Every door and window in her home were kept locked up tight, not with one lock, but with three. She carried a pearl handled Remington in her purse and had sharpened all her hatpins. There was a man who clearly wished to court her, and she thought that he seemed very nice, but she could not move past anything more than dinner and a show.

The article was quite specific about what had happened to the three families that had been his victims. She cried as she read the details, then she sobbed when she read about Mae Collins, who endured the hell and the horror, yet she'd managed to go on to marry the man who'd saved her and lived a normal life. How did she have the strength to carry-on, when Jill couldn't hold a job and had to have financial support from her parents?

Oddly enough, Jill did not despise Mae Collins, nor did she envy her. She was happy for her and though she did not know if she would ever be able to do any of the things that Mae had done, she knew that she was a survivor as well. She was restricted in many ways, but everyone healed in their own way, everyone endured trauma in the way that suited them best and she had lived for a decade past the date that she ought to be dead.

Jill ran to the washroom after she'd finished the article and threw up. Afterward, as she gulped for breath and wiped her face with a wet washrag, she knew that she would have to tell someone what she knew. They had a picture of the disgusting man, but they did not know his name or where he came from, they weren't aware of the fact that he had family in Port Salerno. There was so much that she could tell them, she could help them capture him and lock him away forever, but to do so she would have to gather every ounce of courage that she possessed and put herself into the light, where he would be able to see her, after she'd stayed in the shadows for so many years.

November 10th, 1947

Rood, FL

Detective Mike Brady was manning his desk, his cluttered desk that was covered with papers pertaining to the Collins case, a steaming cup of coffee, black, with no sugar, and two glazed donuts. He hated working mornings, but Detective Ferguson's wife had given birth the night before and Mike was filling in for him. He felt like he'd had ten minutes of sleep the night before and hoped that the coffee and donuts would pep him up. He'd just taken a bite of the sugary treat when a woman walked up and sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk.

She was a lovely woman, one who clearly worked hard to keep her looks as understated as possible. She was neatly dressed, she was very modestly dressed, and he suspected that she was wearing makeup, but it had been applied with a very light hand. She had strawberry blonde hair that fell in loose curls to her shoulders and dark green eyes. All in all, she was a very lovely woman, but it was obvious that she was scared to be here, and he wondered what was so important that it had brought her into the station.

"I apologize for showing up without an appointment and for interrupting your breakfast, but I understand that you are one of the detectives working on the murders of the families in Rood, Arundel and Tequesta, correct?"

For a moment he wasn't certain how to answer. This woman was working so hard to appear calm and self-assured, she was trying to convince him that he didn't intimidate her at all, but her true feelings showed themselves whenever he made eye contact with her. He scared the hell out of her, it was taking every bit of strength that she possessed to stay in that chair, so he pushed aside his irritation and his general abrasive nature and did his best to put her at ease.

"I'm Detective Michael Brady, ma'am, and I'm lead here in Rood. Do you have some sort of information about the murders here or the ones in Arundel or Tequesta?"

She took a deep breath and he noticed that she was twisting the strap of her purse until he thought that she might tear it off. "No, but I do have information on the creature who killed all of those people," she said as a single tear coursed down her cheek. "As a matter of fact, I can tell you everything about that little worm, if you care to listen."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

John's POV

I hated to see ladies cry, it hurt my heart to watch, but Mrs. Overmire had to be told that what she did was wrong. She had no business telling those detectives that Mae was the one who'd survived that night. She hadn't been there, she hadn't seen what had happened, she didn't know why Mae had changed her name and pretended to be someone that she wasn't when she was around anyone but me. I had trusted Mrs. Overmire, but now she'd done something that made me so mad that I was sure I would never be able to trust her again.

"Why'd you tell on Mae?" I asked softly, staring down at the ratty faded rug on her floor. "You were always good to me, Mrs. Overmire, you were nice to me when no one else was, so why did you turn on me this way? Was it for the money?"

I heard her sniffle, then she made a keening sound that made me want to go to her and hug her, but I knew that I couldn't let myself be swayed, not until she'd explained herself to my satisfaction. She had gone and opened one humdinger of a can of worms with what she'd done and there was no way of putting them back. What if that bad man saw her picture? What if he decided to come after her? I wasn't all that keen on the notion of killing a man, but I'd sure as shooting do it if he came after my Mae.

"I ain't gonna let you hide from me on this," I said, hating to be mean to her, hating to push her, when it was obvious that she was mighty troubled by the situation, but I couldn't give in to the sympathy that I was feeling, not yet anyway. "You did this to her, you did it to me, you turned on us, and I need to know why you did it."

I heard her sit down on the couch beside me, but I still wouldn't look at her. She took a deep breath and released it in a shuddering sigh, then she began to talk to me in a whisper. "Oh, John, I didn't call the police so I could get that money. All those years you came in here and we'd trade, and I thought to myself what a kind man you were and how it was a shame that you didn't have anyone to share your life with you. Then suddenly you had a wife, this woman who just appeared out of nowhere and I always wondered where she'd come from. I always liked Mae, I thought she was a good match for you, but when I saw who she really was, I knew that the authorities needed to know that she was alive, and she could help them catch this killer. I never meant to turn on you or hurt you. You're like my son, I love you like a son. Please don't hate me for this, John. I couldn't bear it if you hated me."

I knew that Mae could help the officers find that killer. I reckoned that I could lend a hand as well, given that I'd seen that pissant from a distance. The thing that made me hesitate was the fact that he might come after Mae, that he might try to hurt her again. The thing of it was, we both knew that we had to do this, we had to help the police, but knowing something and liking it were two very different things.

"Aw, I could never hate you, Mrs. Overmire," I assured her. "For a long time, you were the only friend that I had in the whole world. You always treated me decently, you always helped me, and I'll always be grateful for all that you've done. You might give Mae some distance for a while, because she's feeling a mite sore still, but you and me, we're going to be just fine."

I heard her take one of those deep, shuddering breaths, and then she reached over and laid her hand on top of mine, patting it. We stayed that way a long while, not saying anything, just enjoying each other's company again, and then when I went to leave, she gave me a whole tin of homemade divinity, for a belated Halloween treat.

November 16th, 1947

Jupiter, FL

The killer was standing outside of the Tuttle home, staring in through a window, watching as the family enjoyed their dinner. Man, they had one hell of a spread. There was a ham, scalloped potatoes, spinach, lima beans and corn, not to mention a bowlful of rolls with creamy butter to spread on them. Everyone in the family had loaded their plates and were chowing down, and he figured that they could use a lesson in the sin of gluttony, along with the usual show that he put on.

Of course, he didn't necessarily want to put on a show in the Tuttle household. The older daughter wasn't much to look at, therefore she did not stroke his creative or carnal thoughts and left him feeling bored, though that younger one would be fun, once he got her good and scared. But what he really wanted was Mae, he wanted first, to punish her for running away, and second, to beat her, to violate her, to bloody her and finally to finish her once and for all.

It would be her choice which one suffered, which one met their end at the edge of his knife. She held five lives in one hand, her own life in the other. Which would she choose once all was said and done? Could she truly live with the guilt that would plague her heart and soul if she did not sacrifice herself? He did not believe that she could bear that, therefore he would have what he'd been denied and there would be no one to save her this time.

November 20th, 1947

Arundel, FL

The three detectives had all gathered in Robert Haskell's office to meet with a woman named Jill Nolan, a woman who claimed to not only have had a run-in with their killer and survived, but a woman who said that she knew him. All three detectives were hopeful that this woman was sane, that she was being honest, and this wouldn't turn out to be some crackpot pile of horseshit or a desperate attempt to garner attention.

Jill Nolan was an attractive woman, despite the scars that crisscrossed her face. She had strawberry blonde hair, dark green eyes and skin that was the color of cream. She took care with her appearance and was neatly dressed, her hair was styled, and she'd applied her makeup with a light, but thorough hand. Her voice was pleasant to listen to and she didn't hesitate to meet the eyes of the person that she was speaking to.

Zachary Rosenberg imagined that there were those that would doubt Miss Nolan's story, simply because she was a well composed woman who wasn't a nervous wreck. He never understood why people formed judgements in that manner. Granted, there were some people who would wear their trauma for the rest of their lives after something horrific had happened to them. Then there were others, like Miss Nolan, who undoubtedly still endured some degree of fear, but would not allow it to cripple them.

"Albert Dexter asked me out on a date when I was sixteen. He was very quiet, very shy, the class nerd with his thick glasses and a face covered with acne. It shames me to admit this, but I only accepted because I intended to humiliate him, once we were with my friends at the movie theater. I was cruel, thoughtless…a bitch, really and intended to get a good laugh out of making him the butt of a vicious joke…but that wasn't what happened.

"He picked me up in this rusted old jalopy that smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. I almost laughed when I saw that he was wearing a suit that he must have borrowed from his father. His hair was slicked back, and he'd doused himself in this awful cologne. I should have turned around and gone back into the house, but I was so certain that I had the upper hand on him, that I was going to have a good laugh, so I climbed into the car."

Zach watched as she gripped her purse hard, until her knuckles turned white. She took one deep, shuddering breath, then another, and he wondered if she would be able to continue. She'd given them the most important clue, his name, and he would understand if she couldn't continue, but she did.

"We were on our way to the theater and neither of us were speaking, but from the corner of my eye, I could see that he was watching me. The smell in the car was beginning to make me nauseous, so I reached over to roll the window down. He told me not to do that, but I just rolled my eyes at him and kept rolling it down and that was when he punched me.

"He hit me three times in the face, the third blow knocked me out. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the back seat, with a gag in my mouth and my hands and feet tied. He was leaning over me, leering at me, and touching my breasts through my dress. I thought that I might vomit, but knew that I shouldn't, because I would choke to death with that gag in my mouth if I threw up.

"He told me what a high and mighty bitch I was, about how I thought that I was too good for him and since that was the case, he would just take what he wanted. He pulled out a knife, and laughed because I whimpered, then he cut my clothes off me. He unfastened his pants and he would touch my breasts, then rub me between my legs, and lastly, he would…stroke himself. He did all of this repeatedly until he ejaculated on my chest.

"I kept gagging, I could feel him, I could smell him, I was so certain that I would vomit, but thankfully I managed to keep it down. I thought that he was finished, but he pulled out that knife and cut me beneath my right breast. The pain was overwhelming and what made it worse was the fact that I squealed…not screamed, I squealed like a frightened animal. That made him laugh and he continued to cut me all over. He must have liked the feel of the blade slipping into my flesh, the smell of my blood, because he opened his pants further and he raped me.

"He stabbed me five times while he was violating me. I closed my eyes and hoped that he would think that I was dead or dying. That ruse worked, because as soon as he was done, he opened the car door and shoved me out into the drainage ditch, then he took off. It was so cold, and I was naked and hurt. To this day, I don't know how I did it, but I managed to make my way home. Thankfully, my parents were asleep. I did not want to report anything to the police, and I didn't want to go to the hospital. I washed myself repeatedly and somehow managed to sew up the worst cuts, then I went to bed and tried to sleep.

"I have my doors and windows locked at all times. I carry a firearm in my purse, and I am a very good shot. I feel so guilty for what happened to Mae Collins and all the other victims. I should have come forward, I should have reported him, but I was ashamed. He never would have been able to hurt me if I hadn't been so determined to make a fool of him. I was such a snotty bitch, I suppose that there are some who would say that I got what I deserved, but none of these other people deserved what he did to them and I'd like to help you find him and stop him."

"You didn't deserve what happened to you, Miss Nolan," Detective Rosenberg said quietly. "Our actions as youths should rarely be used to judge us as we grow older. I believe that you can help us, that you can provide us with vital information if you are willing to do so and we would be grateful to you for any help that you can provide."

Jill Nolan took a deep breath, one that was shaky, but she grew steadier as she met the eyes of each detective. She was determined to do this, to help them, to help Mae Collins and all of those who would be Albert Dexter's future victims if he wasn't stopped. She owed a debt to those who'd been violated, who'd been slaughtered, and she was going to pay it, no matter how terrified she was to do so.

"Alright, gentlemen…where should we begin?"

November 24th, 1947

Indiantown, FL

Albert Dexter's childhood home wasn't much to look at, unless you were fond of old appliances left outside to rust in the rain. There were chickens roaming the property that looked like they'd been pecked all over and a couple of mangy dogs that were tied to the bumper of an old car with what looked like baling twine. The smell of the place was overwhelming, bad enough to make a person retch from the combination of chickenshit and dogshit, not to mention the scents of pig excrement and slop that floated across the yard from behind the house.

Robert Haskell had seen a curtain flutter in the front of the house and knew they were being watched. He lingered in the yard, having a look around and the others followed suit, although they were all on the verge of vomiting. Five minutes passed, then ten, and finally the person spying on them couldn't take the suspense of not knowing who was trespassing on their property any longer and they came out…leading the way with a .410 shotgun that was typically referred to as a snake charmer.

Haskell immediately drew his .38 and pointed it at the elderly woman, hoping the whole while that she would see reason and yield without incident. He'd managed to go through his entire career as an enforcer of the law without firing his weapon and the last thing that he wanted was for this little old lady to break his record. Thankfully, she put the shotgun away almost immediately, once she saw that he wasn't going to be intimidated, and Detective Haskell took a deep breath and holstered his piece.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said, doing his best to keep from sounding nervous or out of breath, as if looking down the barrel of a shotgun was an everyday occurrence for him. "I am Detective Robert Haskell and these others are Detective Michael Brady, Detective Zachary Rosenberg and Miss Jill Nolan. Are you, by any chance, a relation of Albert Dexter?"

She started to raise the shotgun again, then thought better of it and stowed it out of sight. She was a tired looking woman; she gave the impression of someone who hadn't had a good night's sleep in a couple of years. Everything on her land said that she would be nasty, her house would be filthy, but that wasn't the case. She looked a little unkempt, but she was clean, and her house was worn-down, but it too had been kept as neat as a pin. She didn't exactly invite them in, but she didn't raise a fuss when they followed her though the door and closed it behind them.

"The name that my mammy gave me when I was born was Tillie June McHenry, and my surname name changed to Shale when I married that old son of a bitch Oscar Shale. He was a mean one, he was, and I get down on my knees and thank the good Lord for taking him afore he took me, so I could have a few years of peace. We had two young'uns, two girls that turned out fine, named Mabel and Wanda. Wanda dedicated herself to being a schoolteacher, but Mabel married a ne'er-do-well named Huey Dexter and gave birth to a terror named Albert."

She gestured for us to sit on the furniture all which bore antimacassars on the headrests. She disappeared for a moment into what Robert assumed was the kitchen and returned soon after with a tray that held all the makings for afternoon tea. She sat it down on the coffee table that rested in the center of the semicircle of furniture and told them to help themselves to some snickerdoodle cookies, fresh out of the oven.

"He was always picking on any children that got close to him, pinching them and biting them. When he was about seven, he took to roaming the woods and a couple of months later his ma found out that he'd been killing the wildlife, skinning things and hanging their bones from trees. His father said that he was a normal boy. Mabel didn't think that he was normal at all, so she took him to see a doctor who advised her that it would be best to leave the boy in a nervous hospital 'til he lost these unnatural urges and yearnings.

"Well, Mabel is a softhearted woman and she was reluctant to institutionalize her only child, but then he killed a whole litter of kittens that had just been born. Huey was out on a bender, he stayed gone for two weeks, so Mabel went ahead and took Albert to that nervous hospital. She went to pick him up right after his pa got back home and he seemed much calmer than he'd been before. We thought that he'd gotten better…we weren't willing to accept the fact that he'd actually gotten worse."

Tillie took a deep breath and there were tears in her eyes. Her chin wobbled and she kept wiping at her nose with her handkerchief. "I know who you are child," she said softly, raising her eyes to look at Jill Nolan. "It was unkind, to play a trick on him, but it wouldn't have mattered. He has always had a sickness in him, and he would have hurt you, even if you had been nice to him. I'm so sorry that you were done the way you were. I know that he's hurt others and it might get me killed, but I'll help you find him, officers."

"I don't want you to get hurt, ma'am," Robert said, "but we desperately need your help."

Tillie took another of those deep breaths and stared off into the distance. "He has a rat's nest of an apartment in Stuart," she said softly. "I can't promise that he'll be there, if he's on the hunt, but when he does bed down, he does so in Stuart."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

November 26th, 1947

Stuart, FL

Zachery Rosenberg took a small sip of his coffee and looked around at what there was of scenery. It was a hell of a thing to have to track a rabid dog on the day before Thanksgiving, but he didn't make the timetable. They were going to have to branch out, to cover different regions and that made him nervous as well. There was a part of him that said that they ought to warn John and Mae, but why wreck their holiday if they didn't have to? Besides which, it was unlikely that Albert Dexter would make tracks for Jupiter…or so he hoped.

He and the lovely Miss Nolan were going to cover Dexter's rat's nest apartment, even though they were absolutely certain that he wouldn't be returning there anytime soon. Mike was going to watch over the family home in Indiantown. Robert was going to be hiding out in Jupiter, because he thought that there was a good chance that Dexter would seek out Mae Collins and he wasn't going to leave her out in the open, unguarded and unaware of the danger that might be headed her way.

Zach had brought along a thermos of hot coffee for himself and one of hot tea for Miss Nolan. He'd found some decent store-bought sugar cookies as well, so they were well stocked for their stakeout…well, aside from something to serve as a lavatory. He wasn't sure what they would do when that need arose. It wouldn't be so difficult for him, but what about Miss Nolan?

"What sort of a person were you when you were younger?" Jill asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had taken hold of the interior of his car for the past half-hour. "I'm willing to bet that you were kind and studious, that you were serious and thoughtful, and I'm willing to bet that people like me made life horrible for you."

He turned to look at her for several moments without speaking, which ought to have unnerved her, but surprisingly she took comfort in the gentleness that she saw in his eyes. "I like to think that I was kind and thoughtful, and yes, I was serious and studious. I was one of the "nerdy" kids who never had a date, much less a girlfriend. I don't remember anyone making my life horrible or unbearable. Some were malicious, some were considerate, and a large amount of them were indifferent. I know that you place the blame for what was done to you on your shoulders, but you did not do anything to deserve what was done to you, Miss Nolan, so, please, try to place the blame solely where it belongs and learn to forgive yourself."

She did not know what to say. She could imagine him when he was younger, and she knew how she would have treated him. It would have been wrong, it would have hurt him and made her friends laugh, because they'd been just as cruel and thoughtless as she had been. Would it truly be acceptable for her to forgive herself? Goodness knows that she wasn't the vicious bitch that she'd been as a teenager, but did that mean that what had happened to her was completely unacceptable? She'd like to believe that it was, but she just couldn't convince herself that she hadn't caused what had happened to her.

"Once Albert Dexter is caught, once he cannot hurt anyone else, I believe that I will be able to forgive myself. The scars on the outside have healed, they have faded, and I look forward to the day when the damage that he did to my mind, my heart and my soul are able to heal as well. Do you think that day will ever come, Detective?"

Zach took a drink of his coffee and stared out of the windshield of the car. "Yes, it will, Miss Nolan. You are a strong woman, you are much stronger than he is, and though he hurt those parts of you, though he broke you down and left you shattered, you have put yourself back together, you are determined to live your life, even if you do so in fear, and he can never take that away from you."

John's POV

Jupiter, FL

Land sakes, I'd never seen Tuttle's so busy and it was all on account of the fact that tomorrow was Thanksgiving. People were bustling around, picking out a turkey and all of the stuff to make the side dishes and desserts. I just liked to stay out of the way, to restock the shelves as needed and not make any trouble for anyone, especially myself.

My Mae was going to make us a feast tomorrow. She'd asked Mrs. Overmire if she could make a meal in her house, which had irritated me somewhat to begin with, but then I'd seen the look that was in her eyes and I knew that I'd better keep my big mouth shut. She reminded me, on the way home, that Mrs. Overmire had spent many a lonely Thanksgivings with no loved ones about, so in the end I caved, and that was when she sprung it on me that she'd also invited my elderly, and most cantankerous admirer, Mrs. Lewis, to dine with us as well.

I'd been hoping for a day with just the two of us, but we didn't have any way to cook a turkey, or cornbread dressing, not to mention pumpkin or pecan pie. It was that knowledge that made me begrudgingly accept that we would be spending our day with Mrs. Overmire and Mrs. Lewis, but that didn't mean that I had to like it.

Mae had gathered up all of the supplies that she would need, and after she'd paid for them, she had me stow them in the storeroom. It was going to be a heavy load to tote, but I reckoned that it would be worth it once I sat down to a feast that was unlike anything I'd ever had before. My Mae was one heck of a cook and I was looking forward to enjoying the sort of food that I'd only ever heard of from other people. My mother hadn't liked to cook, so most of our food had come out of cans and boxes and such.

I had a bad feeling that Mae was planning on inviting those detectives as well, since they were putting so much work into her case and it was a holiday. I reckon that it was a mite bit selfish of me, but I couldn't help but think that the more people that came to the meal, the less food there'd be for me. I suppose that was the wrong attitude for a man to have on Thanksgiving, but I'd never had one before, therefore I was bound to be a little selfish, wanting most everything for myself, in spite of the fact that I was supposed to be thankful.

I was working on a display of canned corn when I noticed a fellow wandering 'round the front of the store, giving Mae the eye. I knew that there going to be men who found her attractive, mainly because she was downright beautiful, but there was something about the way that this man was watching her that put me on alert. Now that I thought about it, he'd been in the store for a while. Chances were good that he was just some random creep, but I reckoned that I better go and see who he was and what he wanted.

Land sakes, he was a creepy little fellow. He had a pair of eyes on him that would make anyone uncomfortable and I didn't like the fact that he had them trained on Mae, tracking her every movement. I started to head his way, but a crowd had gathered 'round me, some to get to the corn, others who wanted to jabber and finally, the few oldsters that wanted to gripe about one thing or another. I tried to keep an eye on him, but one moment he was there, the next, he was gone.

* * *

Robert Haskell was drinking coffee to keep from nodding off, and now that he'd had over half a thermos worth of the beverage he needed to pee. He was staked out in a place that was on the outskirts of town, in a copse of trees that undoubtedly witnessed a good deal of youthful hanky-panky after the sun had gone down. It was a pretty place, the sort that he and Alva might have visited at one time, but those days were in the past.

Alva had endured so much from him, his obsessiveness with his cases, his inability to understand emotions from time to time, his disregard for any opinion that wasn't his own. She'd known that he loved her, in his own way, but that hadn't been enough to see them through their rockiest times. Alva hadn't simply wanted love, she'd wanted marriage and a family as well, and Robert hadn't been able to give her those things, thus she'd moved on. She'd been out of his life for a decade and the last he'd heard; she was happily married with three children.

It was something that he regretted, one of those choices that always seemed so foolish after he'd made it, but there was no going back, there was no fixing it. All that he could do was move on with his life and solve every case that came his way. That was what he was doing in Jupiter. He was going to catch this maniac; he was going to bring him to justice for the murders of fifteen innocent people. Maybe an accomplishment like that would give him some measure of peace and he'd finally be able to sleep at night.

It was nice, working with Brady and Rosenberg. They were so different, yet, at the same time, they had one thing in common with him. There was nothing more important than finding justice for those who'd been wronged. He told himself that was why Mae was so important, because he could finally witness justice in motion, he could finally witness it free some part of a victim's heart and soul. That was a big part of why she was so essential, but he had to admit, if only to himself, what she represented to him.

Having Mae around was like having Alva all over again. She didn't look anything like her, but their personalities were very similar, and he'd find himself watching Mae when he was certain that no one would notice. She was a lovely woman, and he found that he was developing a preference for dark hair and eyes, as opposed to strawberry blonde and hazel. He knew that he oughtn't allow his emotions to enter in to this situation, he had no business forming an attachment to Mae, because she could never and would never be his, but he often times struggled to differentiate between what was real and what would never be.

He started to nod off again and then he remembered that he needed to relieve himself. There was a tree right beside his car that would work nicely. He stepped out of his car, unzipped and let loose a long, satisfied sigh as he watered the base of the tree. Perhaps he would take a little nap, once he was back in his car. It was the middle of the day and it was unlikely that anything would happen, and he would be much better off if he caught a few winks, after not sleeping more than a couple of hours the night before.

He laid down in the back seat and pulled his hat down over his eyes. The wind had picked up a little outside, it was a soothing sound, one that almost mesmerized him, one that had soon lulled him into a deep and dreamless sleep, completely unaware of the nightmare that waited just a little way away for Mae Wallace.

Mae's POV

I didn't recognize him to begin with. He was just the last man in my line, patiently waiting for me to ring up his purchases, take his money and wish him a happy thanksgiving. It was something that I'd done all day, and I'd done so with genuine happiness. I knew that I would be exhausted after tomorrow, I'd probably feel like I was going to collapse, but it was going to be so nice to get everyone together and feel like a family again, even if none of us were related.

I'd been running through my schedule, and what all I meant to make, and my line gradually dwindled down further and further. Every now and then I would meet his eyes and a creepy feeling would skitter across the back of my neck, but then he'd smile at me in a very friendly way and I would shake that uneasiness away. Yes, his eyes were nearly colorless and there didn't seem to be any life in them, but he couldn't help that, could he?

Everyone else who'd come through my line had left with a grocery cart filled with paper bags, but he wasn't going to be weighed down, because he wasn't purchasing anything. For one moment I thought that he was playing a joke, having a little fun, but then I saw that while there was a smile on his face, it didn't have anything to do with a joke.

"Hiya, Mae Collins," he said softly, leaning close and making me gag with the odor of his breath, which smelled like sardines. "Come on now, don't be shy, surely you've got a hello for a friend, haven't you?"

My breath caught in my throat, it stayed there for several moments before I could breathe properly again. He'd tried to style his dirty blond hair in a pompadour, but it was just a greasy pile of tangles. It was obvious that he hadn't bathed in a couple of days and his fingernails were a ragged, grimy mess. His face was pockmarked, and there were a couple of new pimples forming, one on his forehead, one on his chin. His eyes were set close together, too close, and they were very light blue, almost colorless.

"Fine, be a bitch. After all, you were one before, weren't you? You ruined everything for me. It was supposed to be perfect, but you ruined it, you fucking cunt."

Well, he was just as ugly and hateful, not to mention evil, with his makeup off as he'd been with it on. I couldn't believe that he'd found me, I couldn't believe that I was standing there looking into the eyes of the son of a bitch that had slaughtered my family when only moments before I'd been thinking about Thanksgiving. I suppose he was like a cockroach. You could probably stomp on him again and again and he would still come back.

"Say something, you ugly bitch. I didn't come here to hear my own voice. You owe it to me to say something."

I didn't think that I could croak out any words, not even if I'd wanted to. I was petrified, I was frozen in place and there were so many things that I ought to have been doing, but I couldn't do a damned thing. It was like it was just the two of us in the store and something had happened to me to make it where I couldn't move, couldn't speak, all that I could do was stare at him and breathe.

"All right, you stupid cooze, I'm giving you two choices. You have to choose between your life or the life of five others. Will it be Mae Collins, or will it be Eugene, Selma, Annie, Evie and Howie Tuttle? Ticktock, ticktock, you fucking bitch, which one will it be? If it's you, will you still be tight, after that big dummy's been screwing you? If it's the others, will they sound like pigs on slaughter day when I put the knife to them?"

I felt my heart sink, he had that knife that I'd seen before under his jacket, he showed it to me, and it scared the hell out of me. "Come on, Mae…this is your moment, girl. You owe me a hell of a lot, but I'll take those others as an exchange. All you got to do is say the word, and you never need to see me again."

I hated everything about him, especially his eyes and that smile on his face. I did not know what possessed me to do it, but I always kept a pencil with me and while he was staring at me, while he was smiling, I brought my right hand out from behind the counter and buried my pencil in the center of his hand.

"John!" I screamed, louder than I'd screamed in my entire life. "Help me, John!"

The scrawny asshole in front of me let loose a shriek as that pencil pierced his hand, one that paired with mine, hell, it almost topped mine. For a minute he cradled his injured hand, glaring at me, then hissed through gritted teeth, "What's your choice, bitch?"

"You can go to hell, you sawed-off bastard," I bit back, smiling as I saw John coming at a run.

The guy who liked to pretend to be a clown called Flick took off running and he was much faster than I thought he would be. He pulled the pencil out of his hand and threw it aside, then ran out the front door. He was followed closely by John, but he quickly gained a good distance on him. I saw Detective Haskell's car close to the edge of town, but he was asleep in the backseat and we couldn't wake him until our quarry was out of sight.

So, I had a choice to make, huh? Well, it hadn't been one of the choices, but if anyone died, I reckoned that it ought to be him.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

November 26th, 1947

Jupiter, FL

There was an abandoned house on the outskirts of the town and that was where he went to hunker down and wrap his hand. That little bitch, his hand was throbbing something awful and there wasn't a damned thing that he could do to tend to the wound. He didn't know where she'd gotten her nerve, she ought to have been scared to death, but that stupid whore had stabbed him in the hand, she hadn't hesitated at all and that not only enraged him, it scared him a little as well.

He hated to think how many hayseeds were roaming through the town, rifles in hands, ready to blow his head off. That wasn't even taking into consideration that big lummox that she called her husband and who knows how many cops, all of which had a picture of his for reference. This had to have been one of the stupidest things that he'd ever done, and he'd be lucky if he made it out of this town alive.

What he ought to have done was waited until tomorrow night, after everyone was stuffed and drowsy, after they'd all gone to sleep. He could have gone to that dumpy old bus that the bitch and her ox shared and sliced them both to ribbons. After that was said and done, he could have gone back into town, stopped by the Tuttle house and had a party. It wouldn't have been a first-class affair, but it still would have been fun, and he could have left this town and never looked back.

He didn't want to get caught in this dump; he didn't want to be strung up in the center of town. There was no doubt in his mind that these hicks would stretch him if they found him and all of the years of shows that he'd had in mind would be lost. No one understood the artistry of his work, they could not wrap their minds around his masterpieces and there would be no use in trying to explain things to them.

He could hear voices in the distance, they were moving closer to the house, so Albert moved deeper within the abandoned dump. There was a perfect hiding spot down in the cellar, an old coal chute, which was just what Mae Collins had used to allude him, wasn't it? Why not bide his time there until it got dark? It was doubtful that they would see the irony in what he'd done, and he could make his escape once the sun was down and there was darkness all around them.

Mae's POV

I could not believe what I'd done. I'd been so scared, petrified, but I'd defended myself. John was upset because he hadn't been right beside me to protect me, and Detective Haskell was angry with himself for falling asleep on the job and letting the guy get away. I was just glad that the majority of the town was unaware of what had taken place, I just hoped that they would keep their doors and windows locked up tight.

Detective Haskell wanted us to get away from Jupiter, to go somewhere that was safe, but I shot down that idea as soon as he mentioned it. I had a Thanksgiving dinner to prepare and we were all going to gather at Mrs. Overmire's house for food and fellowship. I wasn't all that worried about Albert Baxter ruining our fun either, given that Mrs. Overmire had a couple of shotguns in her home, along with a Colt .44 caliber army model revolver. The detectives would also be armed, and I believed that Miss Nolan would be as well, so I just dared that poxy runt to try something.

I did warn the Tuttle family that they might be in the sights of Baxter and they'd promptly closed the store and went to spend the holiday with their family in Port St. Lucie. It was a huge weight off of my shoulders, to know that they would be safe, and I didn't have to worry about Baxter trying to hurt any of them in any way or use them as a way to try to control or influence me. I wasn't going to lie, I was scared, but I was ready to end things with my family's murderer once and for all.

We had promised Detective Haskell that we wouldn't go back to our home for anything, so we were all spending the night with Mrs. Overmire. There weren't enough beds for everyone. Mrs. Overmire kept hers, and she gave one to me and John and the other to Jill Nolan. The detectives were going to have to make do with pallets on the floor of the living room. I didn't know how much sleep they would be able to get, because there weren't that many blankets and the floor beneath them was rock-hard, but I supposed that they were accustomed to uncomfortable situations.

Mrs. Overmire was a bit shaky, once she was told the details of what was going on, so I told her to sit in her chair and relax while I got supper made. I mixed up a big meatloaf and got it baking, made boiled potatoes with plenty of butter and salt and pepper, and opened a few cans of green beans, then dumped them in a saucepan with butter and a few strips of bacon. I considered making some biscuits as well, but I didn't, because I was already tired and there was so much work to do tomorrow.

Once the meatloaf was almost done, I coated it with ketchup and slid it back in the oven. I hurriedly set the table and poured ice-cold water in the goblets on the table. After that, I sat all of the food on the table and called everyone in to eat. Mrs. Overmire instructed everyone where to sit and I ended up between John and Detective Haskell, which made me nervous, because John had a crazy notion that the man was infatuated with me. I tried to convince him that he was imagining it, but he would not be swayed from his belief.

Mrs. Overmire asked for a blessing on the food, on our group and on the town. She prayed that we would be given strength, that we would be guided through whatever came our way and I prayed along with her but added my own request. I asked that whatever happened to Baxter was the best for everyone concerned, even if it meant that we couldn't seek the revenge that we so desperately wanted and felt that we needed.

We passed the food around the table, just as a family would. Everyone praised me on the deliciousness of my cooking until I could feel my face growing warm and undoubtedly turning bright red. Robert Haskell murmured his compliments to me, and I could feel John stiffening up beside me, so I thanked the detective for his kindness, but not before I took hold of John's hand in mine.

I hadn't had time to make any dessert, but everyone declared that they were too stuffed for anything sweet. Jill and Mrs. Overmire went to work clearing the table and washing the dishes, and I smiled when I saw Detective Rosenberg rushing into the kitchen to help them. I suspected that he was sweet on Miss Nolan and I hoped that she might return the gesture, because he seemed to be a genuinely kind man.

Detective Brady fixed his pallet on the floor and shot one last poisonous look at Detective Haskell before he laid down to go to sleep…well, to stew a bit, then go to sleep. The rest of us had accepted that it wasn't Robert's fault that he'd dozed off, but Mike was steaming mad. I'd worried, for a moment, that a fight might break out, once Detective Brady had learned what had happened, but thankfully he'd kept his fists to himself.

Robert sat in a chair that he'd turned toward the window and watched the nighttime world of Jupiter. He'd apologized profusely to me, and I'd assured him that though I was shaken up, all would be well. I could only imagine what it would be like, for a man in his line of work to literally fall asleep on the job. He was filled with self-loathing and I would have liked to have done something to make him feel better, but the dark mood that he was in warned everyone to give him a wide berth.

John and I sat on the sofa, along with Zach and Jill. We waved goodnight to Mrs. Overmire, to was obviously exhausted from the events of the day. I'd be willing to swear that I'd never seen her look as happy as she did as she gazed around the room at her mismatched pseudo family. I knew that she was a lonely woman and it was nice that we could give her some comfort, given the circumstances.

Jill and Zach were talking quietly, intimately, and I took John's hand and led him to our bedroom. We didn't have any pajamas with us, so we decided that we would sleep in our underclothes. We slid into bed, beneath the covers, and I was pleased to discover that everything smelled clean and fresh, when I'd halfway expected the bedclothes to smell stale and musty.

John slid his arm around me, and I turned to him just as I always would, but I didn't think that it would be right for us to make love. This bed belonged to Mrs. Overmire and it was one thing to sleep in it, but it was something altogether different to get naked and have sex. That seemed like it would be a little disrespectful, so I kissed John, I told him that I loved him and good night.

The poor man, I knew that I'd just hurt his feelings, and maybe I ought to have explained things to him, but I was so tired and there was so much work to be done tomorrow. I hoped that he wouldn't think that I was keeping myself from him because of Robert Haskell. I knew that he was feeling jealous and this was liable to make that sensation even worse, but he was going to have to learn that there were times when we couldn't be completely intimate with one another, no matter how much we wanted to.

November 27th, 1947

Jupiter, FL

John's POV

It was Thanksgiving Day and I reckon that I'd never seen anyone work as hard as our trio of womenfolk were. They gave us chores to do, like setting up the table in the living room. They even trusted us to put on Mrs. Overmire's best tablecloth and the salt and pepper shakers, as well as some decorative pieces that Mrs. Overmire had put on her Thanksgiving table for the past thirty years. After that, there wasn't much to do but sit around and make small talk, so I sneaked on over and peeked into the kitchen.

My Mae looked as pretty as could be, even if she was wearing the same clothes that she'd worn the day before. We all were, except for Mrs. Overmire, but no one looked raggedy or dirty. I had to admit that I'd been a little sore last night, when Mae didn't want to make love. At first, I'd thought it was because she might be taken with that Detective Haskell, but then I got to thinking about the fact that we were in a bed that belonged to Mrs. Overmire and it would be wrong for us to do something like that in a borrowed bed.

My mouth started to water when I smelled the turkey and the ham cooking in the oven. There were two pumpkin pies on the counter, along with two pecan pies. Mae was mixing up the cornbread dressing, and she'd already made the candied sweet potatoes. There was going to be mashed potatoes and gravy, buttered corn and green beans, along with a big pan of sourdough biscuits. I reckon that there were some folks who would say that we were acting like pigs, greedy and gluttonous, but I didn't give a tinker's damn what they thought.

Mae looked over and caught me peeking and I waited for her to give me what for, but she just smiled and handed me a pan that was filled with pie crust that had been sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, then baked in the oven until it was crisp. My eyes grew wide when I saw the bounty that I'd been given…and then I saw the way that she was looking at me.

"Make sure that you share this with everyone else," she said, raising herself up to peck me on the cheek.

I tried to smile as I made my way into the sitting room, but it was never easy to smile when you wanted to scowl. The other fellows were pleased as punch with the offering and we all sat around and munched on that pie crust. By golly, my Mae could make a darned good pie crust, and that made me even more excited to think about those pies in the kitchen.

It seemed to take forever for everything to get done, but pretty soon the ladies were loading down the table with a variety of food, all of the things that I'd mentioned, as well as a bowl of cranberry jelly. Everyone took the same seats that we'd had before, but I didn't immediately sit down, because Mrs. Overmire had given me the job of carving the turkey, and then the ham.

Once that was finished, everyone's plates were loaded with what we wanted and we all went to work, stuffing our faces and handing out lots of compliments. That was, hands down, the best meal that I'd ever had, and I made a pig of myself by filling and emptying my plate three times, but I wasn't the only one. All of the other fellows did the same, even Detective Rosenberg, who looked like a light breeze would knock him off of his feet.

After that, we had pumpkin and pecan pies, with mounds of whipped cream. All of us men were so miserable after that, all we could do was crawl into the living room, unfasten our britches and nap for an hour…after which we were woken by the women and told to clear the table, put up all of the leftovers and wash the dishes. I suppose that it was a fair trade, but I reckoned that they could have let us sleep another half-hour, at the very least.

Who would have thought that a bunch of men would have so much fun doing what we considered women's work? I suppose it was because we were flicking soap and water on one another and making a second mess that we'd be made to clean up. All in all, we were having a grand time…which was why it came as such an unpleasant surprise when the back door burst open and Albert Baxter strolled into the room, brandishing a knife.

* * *

Well, well…they'd had one hell of a good day, hadn't they? Yep, a roomful of assholes who'd gorged themselves on a smorgasbord that the Collins bitch had made for them. Hell, they could barely keep their eyes open, they were so stuffed. That's a lesson for all of you kiddies out there. Don't indulge in gluttony, especially when you've got a guy who's waiting for the perfect moment to slice you to ribbons.

Well, he reckoned that he'd be a monkey's red-assed uncle, because there was that bitch, Jill Nolan. He thought for sure that she was dead, but there she was, alive and well. he was going to have to include her in the main event of the show. That made another one that got away from him and that pissed him off, but he'd deal with her, just like he was going to deal with Mae Collins.

Of course, there were the matters of the menfolk to deal with. He wasn't the least bit worried about that old wrinkled bitch, all that she was going to do was sit in the corner and whimper like a baby. He had to move quickly against the men though, and thankfully for him, they'd all removed whatever weapons they may have had when they partook of their meal, so they were easily subdued. He tied each of them to a dining room chair, along with the old hag, and his beauties were tied up on the couch, in full view of the men.

Once they were securely bound, he cleaned himself up, then found a vanity in the old woman's bedroom and went to work applying his makeup for the evening. It was a shame that his clothes were torn and dirty, but there was nothing to be done about that. He would still put on one hell of a show, one that was bound to cause an uproar in his audience, and he could hardly wait to get started.

He stood off to the side of where the spectators were watching and made a drumming sound for several seconds and then he burst into the room and found that the Irish detective had almost released himself from his ropes. Flick the Clown roared in anger and stepped forward and drew the tip of his knife across the detective's cheek, as a painful, burning reminder, should he choose to do something like that again.

Brady sat back in his chair and hissed in pain, his eyes were burning with hate the entire time that Flick spent tying him back up, but the clown wasn't bothered by looks like that. To be honest, he liked them, and he couldn't help but giggle a little, which made the detective angrier, and Flick's laughter grew until he was all but rolling on the floor, holding his stomach while he surrendered himself to the hilarity.

But there was a show to be done, so he placed himself in the center of the room, with his bag of tricks at his feet, and bowed to his loving audience, even though they were being rude and not applauding. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" he cried, waving at everyone, who could not return the gesture because their hands were bound. "My name is Flick the Clown and I have lots of tricks and games that I want to play with you. Now, I'm a little peeved because that cop was breaking the rules, he was trying to escape and that is a big no-no. Now, I've written down everyone's name and put them in this little bag. The only ones that won't be playing are Mae and Jill, because I have something extra special in mind for them."

He hoped that the bitches would show more fear than they did, but he knew that they be pissing their panties once their time to entertain came around, so he was willing to wait. He pulled a small, dingy back out of his larger dingy bag and there was a slip of paper that he'd taken from Mrs. Overmire's notepad while he was hiding in the house. On that paper he'd written, in pencil, the names of the players, with a series of numbers by their names. It looked like this:

Ethel, 1-10

John, 11-20

Michael, 21-30

Robert, 31-40

Zachary, 41-50

He knew that the old bag kept one of those adding machines in her home, and he was certain that he would be able to use it. He thought about it real hard, with the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth, then he added four plus eight plus two, which equaled fourteen. That meant that the ox would be the first one to play a game with him.

"Goody, goody gumdrops," he said happily, moving away from the adding machine to fetch John's case, which he'd stolen from his home. He sat it by the vanity and went to untie John, making sure to hold the knife on him the entire time. "Now, you just remember, dimwit, I'll gut that bitch of yours if you try something stupid. Sit down at the vanity and do your makeup. You can't be a proper clown if you haven't painted your face."

He had a pretty good idea that the ox would have liked to have told him to go piss up a rope, but he was, surprisingly, smart enough to keep his mouth closed. Flick waited until John was seated at the vanity, then he tied him up good and tight and went to see who their next contestant was going to be. He added six plus eleven plus five, and that equaled twenty-two, which meant that it was time for Michael to play.

Oh, this was going to be fun. He wasn't going to tell the detective the name of the game, he was just going to have to see how it was played. He started to approach Michael, knife at the ready, when the detective began to speak and put a real damper on Arthur's spirits.

"I'm not going to play any of your stupid games, you demented little shit. If you want to kill me, you go ahead and do it, but I'm not going to dance, I'm not going to pretend to be a dog, I'm not going to beg for my life, so you can fuck off, you runty bastard, and do what you're going to do without the theatrics."

Well, that wasn't fair at all. Everyone was being chosen, at random, for a different game, and they were supposed to play along. He knew that he needed to keep a firm grip on his temper, but dammit, they weren't playing fair. He paced the room, seething, and it was then that he saw that they were laughing at him, or, they were in his mind, so he plunged the knife in each of them, taking care that he wouldn't hit anything that would kill them.

He was just going to have to start the games all over again. That was what he would do. There was plenty of adding left to be done on that machine, but before he could punch the keys, he heard a voice say, "Hey, you little bastard," and he felt a sharp pain in his side. "How'd you like to see what it's like to be in our shoes?"

He turned an unbecoming shade of white, there was no color left in his face at all and he swallowed over and over again. Mae was standing beside him, pocketing her swiss army knife. Dammit, it hadn't dawned on him that any of the females might be armed. She untied the other bitch and the lummox, freed the hag and the detectives. Suddenly, Flick found himself in a room filled with hostile people who all wanted a piece of his flesh, but surely the detectives wouldn't allow the others to kill him…would they?


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

"Do you know what you remind me of? You're just like a little cockroach, that is, you would be, if a nasty bug raped and murdered. You scurry all over the place, doing just as you please, until someone turns on the light and then you're making your way for the safety of the shadows. Only this time there's nothing but light, which means that you've got nowhere to hide."

The Collins bitch was smug, she was reveling in the fact that she'd gotten one over on him and he would have liked to have given her a good smack, but he knew that the doofus would probably kill him if he did, so he kept his hands to himself. It was freakish, to have that moron grinning at him with clown makeup on his face, and for one awful moment it dawned on Arthur that he probably looked just as stupid when he transformed himself into Flick the Clown.

"The only reason you got me was because you cheated," he said, hearing the whining tone of his voice and hating himself for it. "I should have known that one of you would hide a blade on you, because you're all a bunch of pussies and you don't have the guts to take me on without cheating."

The detective that was built like a linebacker laughed; a mocking laugh that made Arthur want to gut him. "You're a cowardly little bastard who gets his jollies murdering defenseless people, including _children_, who rapes women and disfigures them, but you have the nerve to call us pussies? She has every right to pull a knife on you and carve you up like the little chicken that you are. And, oh, by the way, if you think that there's a single person in this room who'll come to your defense, think again, because you've got a good beating, then a long, painful death coming your way. Not only do you deserve it, but it would save the taxpayers a chunk of hard-earned money if someone else takes you out."

Arthur struggled to swallow and felt his balls draw up as real fear took hold of him. They all looked like they were anxious to carve him up, even the skinny detective, who'd always seemed peaceful. Hell, even the old bitch looked like she was anxious to get a piece of him and it occurred to him that this might be the one time that he wasn't able to make a break for it. Everyone in the room wanted him to suffer, then they wanted him to die, and worst of all was the fact that they were backing him into a corner.

"I say that we let Jill go first, after all, she's the one that he brutalized first," Mae said. "Mrs. Overmire's got a whole kitchen drawer full of knives, or would you prefer a gun?"

The first woman that he'd ever punished stepped up to him and smiled, a smile that made his ass pucker up. Up close, he could see all of the scars that he'd carved into her face and he had a feeling that she was going to make him pay for each and every one of them. For a split-second he was tempted to beg for mercy, but he'd be damned if a cooze was going to hear him pleading for anything. He spit in her face instead, and started to laugh, but was silenced by her hand cracking against his cheek.

"Why don't you bring both of them to me and I'll take turns," Jill murmured, using the handkerchief that Zach handed her to wipe off her face. "Though, I suppose that it would be poetic justice to use a blade on the ugly little pus-bag."

He wanted to scoff in her face, after all, how likely was it that she knew how to use a gun? But even if she didn't, that still left the blade, and he knew that he didn't want anyone cutting on him. That was the sort of thing that he did to others, he didn't have it done to him, and there was no way in hell that he was going to let this whore make a single mark on his body.

How were they all holding up so well? Granted, he hadn't hit anything vital on any of them, but they were bleeding, they ought to have been getting weaker, but they looked like they could have a go at him for hours before they even began to get tired. Bloodthirsty sons of bitches, they were going to kill him and there wasn't a damned thing that he could do about…or so he thought to begin with, but an opportunity suddenly presented itself.

The slut was getting too close to him, she was so caught up in her eagerness to cause him pain that she was getting careless. He could see that the skinny detective was on the verge of shouting a warning to her, but it was too late. He surged forward and headbutted her and when she fell, she dropped the knife. He immediately flipped his chair over and found the blade, not caring that he was slicing himself over and over as he struggled to free himself.

All of the others rushed toward him but stopped in their tracks as he freed himself and took hold of that bitch from so long ago, placing the knife against her neck and doing his best to ignore the agonizing pain that was shooting through his hands. He kissed her on the cheek, then licked the spot that he'd kissed, laughing hysterically when she screamed and tried to get away from him, cutting her neck in the process.

"Ooh, I guess that makes us blood now, doesn't it, you fucking cunt?"

* * *

He had a lot of toys in his bag and now that everyone was tied up again, he was going to give them all a little treat. He figured that he was going to have to go above and beyond what he would normally do, he figured that they had one hell of a show to see, to be a part of, and he couldn't wait to get started. The only thing that was ruining the moment of victory for him was the fact that his hands were in shreds and the pain was making him kind of woozy.

He knew that the dizziness that he was feeling was just going to get worse, due to blood loss, so he was going to have to get the show on the road. He decided that he would do the men first, then the old bitch, followed by that Nolan slut, and he would save Mae Collins for the final act. There was a part of him that said to keep the idiot alive, so he'd have the chance to see his woman being chopped to pieces, but he wanted it to just be the two of them when her time came.

He approached the detective, Haskell, his mouth widening into a disturbing grin as he spun the knife 'round and 'round in his hand. The big bastard was grinning back at him, but his eyes said that he was scared. Arthur decided that he was going to give him another big grin, one that set beneath his mouth, but over his tie. That would look awfully funny, especially as the blood gushed out of his wound. That would be the first step to show all of the others that they never should have tried to one-up him. It couldn't be done, and he tended to get particularly bloody when people pushed him past his breaking point.

He hummed a song as he approached Haskell, _The Man on The Flying Trapeze_. The tune was one of his favorites and it lifted his spirits, it put a little pep in his step. Haskell was going to suffer mightily for taking part in the mutiny against him, and Arthur was looking forward to making him scream…but he should have known that things were never going to go his way again.

* * *

It took him a moment to fathom how on earth the moron had managed to free himself, then a cold sweat broke out all over his body when he realized that the big man had torn the rope that was binding his hands and feet. He'd fetched his own goody bag while Arthur was busy with Detective Haskell, and now he was headed toward Flick with the momentum of a freight train, his hand in his bag, rooting around, undoubtedly, for a weapon.

He found what he was looking for, a bowling pin, and he quickly closed the space between him and Arthur. "You shouldn't hurt people!" he shouted, swinging the pin and catching Flick on the jaw. "You're a bad man and you ruin people's lives!", another blow caught Arthur on the side of the face and some of his teeth came flying out of his mouth. "You took everyone away from Mae and she'll never be able to get any of them back!", the final swing caught Flick under his chin, his lip was between his teeth at the time and he damn near bit it off.

Arthur had staggered backward with every blow of the pin, and he was nearly backed into a corner by the time that John had finished with him. There were tears running out of his eyes and snot flowing from his nose and everyone in the room thought that he was one of the least menacing things that they'd ever seen in their life.

John moved around the room and started to untie everyone, and Flick spit out a mouthful of blood and moved toward him, tossing his knife from one mangled hand to the other. Mae had been released, and she was watching the others be freed, so she did not know that she was in danger, no one realized that Arthur was moving toward her until Jill saw him and screamed at Mae to get away from him.

His knife caught her in the back before she could move away, but thankfully for her it was a shallow wound. She still screamed though, a high-pitched squeal that made him laugh, that sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through his body. He was all set to go after her again, to get her good, but her doofus of a husband dug into his goody bag and brought out a set of gardening shears…fucking gardening shears and he started to move purposefully toward Flick.

He envisioned the moron plunging the blades into his gut, or his throat, then opening them again and again, just to maximize the agony. He waited for someone, the detectives at least, to put a leash on the dolt, but they just stood still and watched him. Well, let his suffering rest on their heads then, because they ought to know better than to let an overgrown lunatic run loose with a pair of shears.

"I told you not to hurt anyone anymore!" John hollered, reaching Arthur and throwing him down on the ground. "You're not just a bad man, you're an evil man, and you're not happy unless you're causing pain or fear." John reached out with his foot and flipped Flick onto his back. "All of the suffering that my Mae's gone through wasn't enough for you. You had to find her, you had to open up all of those old wounds. Well, I reckon that it's time that someone dealt with you, I reckon that it's time for someone to teach you a lesson, and that someone is going to be me."

Oh, shit, this was it. He was about to die, and it was going to be a painful and bloody end. He had always liked to think that he would go out in a manly fashion, but as he pissed his pants and started to cry, he knew that option had flown out of the window. Sure enough, the oaf aimed for his guts, he was going to disembowel him, but at the last minute he changed course and plunged those blades into one of Arthur's biceps instead.

The pain was instantaneous and for a moment he couldn't breathe. He continued to hold his breath in the hope that doing so would help to at least take the edge off of the agony, but that didn't work. He finally sucked in a huge breath and tried to keep from blubbering, wishing that he would die and wondering if one of these sorry sons of bitches would kill him if he asked them to do so.

"That's enough, John," the Collins bitch said calmly, moving so that she was standing over him, looking down at him. "Now, if one of these nice gentlemen will handcuff him, we can call the sheriff and have him taken in."

Jill made a sound that said that she didn't like that idea at all. "I say that we go ahead and finish him off, instead of taking a chance on some bleeding-heart lawyer getting him off. I don't want to go through the rest of my life, looking over my shoulder, wondering if he was coming for me. Ten years of living like that was more than enough...I can't handle ten more."

Zach stepped forward, placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. "We'd all like to see him dead for what he's done, but there are the other families to be considered." He pulled out the shears, ignoring Arthur's howl of agony, brought out a pair of cuffs, flipped Flick onto his stomach and bound his wrists, completely ignoring the mixture of pleas and curses that came from the now pathetic killer. "They need to see him tried and sentenced, and then, if I'm right, they need to see him die."

* * *

The first trial was to be held in Rood and it was strange for Mae to return to her hometown. She dreaded getting up in front of all of those people and telling them what had been done to her family, what had been done to her by an evil little man dressed up as a clown. She sat by the window in the motel room that they'd rented for the duration of the trial, looking out the window at the stars and wishing that they could go back home.

She thought of her family, remembering each of them in a happy time, not as they'd been at the end. That was going to be the most painful part of this procedure, having to see them as they'd been before death had taken them. She knew that she would not be able to do so without crying and it infuriated her, the fact that she would shed tears in front of that sawed-off runt. She wished that he was dead, she dreaded having to look at his hateful face one more time, but as her papa had always said, "needs must", and this was one responsibility that she could not avoid.

She and John had been married by Reverend Owens on her birthday, a little under a week after Thanksgiving. She had been surprised by the turnout, she would have sworn that everyone in Jupiter was there, along with her new friends, who were all healing from knife wounds. She was now officially Mae Wallace and her new husband was John Wallace, but what would the newest member of their family be called?

She smiled as she looked down at her growing tummy, smoothing her hand over the tiny bump and wondering for the umpteenth time whether she was housing a boy or a girl. John was beside himself, worrying about what sort of father he would be, yet at the same time, she'd never seen him prouder than he was now that he was a husband and a father to be. Life would have been perfect, if one hateful matter was gone. Thankfully, it would be very soon and then they could build a life and never worry about it being disturbed.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's read this story, left reviews and put it on your favorite or follow list. There will be one more chapter, to tie everything up, and then we'll say good-bye to John, Mae and Baby Wallace.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Mae's POV

I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I made my way to the chair that sat next to the judge's makeshift podium. Rood was a small town; therefore, it didn't have a courthouse. If the need for a trial arose, it took place in the high school gymnasium, where folding chairs could be placed to accommodate the crowd that would inevitably gather to watch the proceedings. John had already testified, doing so right after Jill. Detective Haskell had taken his turn, right after Detectives Brady and Rosenberg. The bastard's grandmother had testified against him as well, and now it was my turn, the final witness for the prosecution, and if looks could have killed, I'd have dropped dead on the spot from the glare that Flick was giving me, but I just ignored him.

Mrs. Overmire had made me the prettiest dress to wear, a linen A-line in royal purple that would adjust to fit as my tummy grew with each passing month. It was surprising to me how much baby was showing, given that I wasn't very far along, but I had weighed a fair amount when I was born, and it wasn't difficult to imagine that John had been a large child as well. It was those sorts of realizations that made me fear childbirth, but my mother had made it through, and John's mother had as well, so I was sure that I had the gumption to do the same.

I made it to the chair without tripping or doing anything else that would make me feel foolish and placed my hand on the Good Book and gave my vow that I would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. I was surprised that I was able to meet the eyes of my foe so easily, given how terrified I'd once been of him. I was even tempted to give him a little smile, just to show him how pathetic he was, but I resisted the urge to do so.

Abraham Harrington was the prosecuting attorney and he looked like a creaky old geezer who was half blind and half deaf. His blue seersucker suit could have used a good ironing and his hair needed a good combing, but I knew that he used his doddering oldster image to his advantage. I happened to know that his sight was better than mine and he could hear someone break wind two counties over. Yes, his suit needed to be ironed, but it was clean, as was his person, though his hair did need the application of a comb.

He slowly approached my chair, flipping through a stack of papers, then stopped and looked at me with a smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Wallace," he said sunnily.

"Good morning, Mr. Harrington," I replied, and it pleased me to hear that there was no nervousness or fear to be heard in my voice.

"It pains me to make you recall the events of May the fourteenth, nineteen hundred and forty-seven, but I have no choice but to do so, Mrs. Wallace. Of course, your surname was Collins at the time, was it not?"

"Yes, it was," I replied. "I took my father's Christian name as my married name, as did my husband, John."

"What a lovely tribute," he murmured, holding the sheaf of papers in his hand up to his mouth and studying me in silence for several moments. "Your brother, Ernest, loved clowns, did he not?"

I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves. "Yes, he was very fond of clowns."

"And that is why he would have been persuaded to allow the defendant, Albert Dexter, or, as he was calling himself at the time, Flick the Clown, to enter your family's home, isn't that true, Mrs. Wallace?"

"Objection, your honor! The witness cannot possibly speculate why her brother admitted the accused into the family home…if he was ever there, that is."

No one knew how a virtually penniless man like Albert Dexter had managed to convince Horace Bingley to defend him, given the rates that the man was known to charge, but for some reason he'd taken the case. Undoubtedly, he'd done so for the notoriety he was bound to gain after all was said and done, especially if he got Baxter off. All that I knew for certain was that he was a greasy peckerwood and it was all that I could do to keep from telling him what I thought of him.

"Sustained," the Honorable Julius Montgomery responded, shooting a rather nasty look at Mr. Harrington as he did so. "By God, Abraham, you know better than that and you damn well better not try to sneak one in again."

Mr. Harrington smiled and bowed, "A thousand apologies, your honor. I just wanted to be sure that Mr. Bingley was paying attention."

There were snickers to be heard all throughout the gymnasium and Mr. Bingley turned a very unflattering shade of red. "To hell with the apologies, Abraham," Judge Montgomery grumbled. "Just ask your next question."

"Mrs. Wallace, I believe that you were attacked and violated on the fourteenth of May last year, is that right?"

I took another deep breath and found John in the group of people who were watching the trial. "Yes, that's correct."

"And is the man who attacked and violated you in this room, Mrs. Wallace?"

I was so glad that John was there to give me the strength that I needed to get through all of this. "Yes, Mr. Harrington, he certainly is."

The gymnasium had grown deathly quiet. "That's him right there," I said in a voice that was loud and clear, pointing my finger at Albert Dexter. "Albert Dexter attacked me, he violated me, he attacked and violated my family and then he murdered them."

The gym erupted in a cacophony of noise then and Judge Montgomery slammed his gavel down several times and ordered everyone to shut up, but he had to yell the words several times, and by the time that he got everyone settled down, he was standing up and pounding the gavel so hard that I was sure he would break it. His face was an ugly shade of red, just as Mr. Bingley's had been a few moments before and he was struggling to catch his breath as he took his seat.

"Are you alright, Your Honor?" George Colby, the part-time bailiff and part-time cook at the town cafe asked anxiously. "Do you need to take a moment to catch your breath?"

Judge Montgomery gave George a look that had him shrinking away from him. "By God, I'm not some old fogie with one foot in the gotdamned grave, Colby, now get back to your damned spot and stay there until you're needed."

Poor Mr. Colby was the third face to turn red as he made his way back to his assigned spot on the gymnasium floor. As he did, Judge Montgomery turned his attention to everyone in the room and gave them a look that dared them to even think about opening their mouths. "As for the rest of you, if you can't sit there with your yaps shut for the duration of this trial, I will empty the room of everyone save for the necessary parties. You go on ahead and ask your next question, Abraham."

Horace Bingley stood and cleared his throat, "With all due respect, Your Honor, I believe that I ought to be allowed to object."

Judge Montgomery stared at Bingley with narrowed eyes. "Well, Mrs. Wallace can't be accused of hearsay, given that she was placed in the home at the time of the murders not only by herself, but by an earlier witness. She was asked a question and she answered it with what she swore was the God's honest truth, Mr. Bingley, so I don't see what in hell you're objecting to, therefore, overruled!"

Mr. Bingley straightened his coat and sat down with as much dignity as he could muster, and Mr. Harrington approached my chair once more. "Was there another time that you encountered Mr. Baxter?"

"Yes, sir, he came into the home of Ethel Overmire, where I was having Thanksgiving dinner with a group of folks, and he attacked us, but we returned the favor and he was placed under arrest."

I could see Albert Dexter poking his lawyer in the arm, clearly prodding him to object, but once more I'd answered his question as someone who'd been there and was backing up the testimony of those who'd come before me, so what could he object to? I suppose that he could do so, just for giggles, but he would surely get reamed out by Judge Montgomery if he did.

"I have one last question, Mrs. Wallace, a request really, and I'd like to apologize in advance for asking this of you, but would you please stand and show the jury some of the damage that Mr. Baxter did to your body?"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Bingley cried out. "I think that is a very scandalous request for Mr. Harrington to make."

"If I may explain, Your Honor," Mr. Harrington said, before Judge Montgomery could rule one way or the other. "What I was asking was that Mrs. Wallace show the scars of injuries that are on her person but are not in any areas that might be considered 'scandalous'."

Judge Montgomery considered the issue for several moments, then bellowed out, "Overruled!"

I didn't really want to expose any part of myself to the jury, no matter how ordinary it may be, but I knew that they needed to see firsthand what that animal had done to me. I stood up and did my best to ignore my shaking knees and approached the jury holding onto George Colby's arm for support. Twelve sets of eyes stared at me and made me feel like I couldn't do what had been asked of me, but I took a deep breath, I pictured Baxter behind bars, and I raised the hem of my dress to just above my knees.

These scars were light, but I could hardly show them the ones on my thighs. I asked if John could be allowed to help me, and he loosened the top of my dress just a bit and I pulled it down just enough to show the damage that had been done to my upper chest and my back, as well as the softest parts of my arms. I heard several muffled curses as these injuries were revealed, and then John helped me straighten my dress and led me back to my chair.

"I'm so sorry that I put you through that, Mrs. Wallace," Mr. Harrington said quietly. "Let it be known that I have seen photos taken by Dr. Timothy Hayes and these photos show the damage that was done to Mrs. Wallace's entire body and I am admitting them into evidence to be viewed solely by the jury."

I cringed at the thought of anyone looking at those puckered lines that covered my body. I didn't shudder when I was naked in front of John anymore, but I knew that he not only loved me, but that he accepted me just the way that I was. I knew that it was essential that the jury see every bit of damage that was visible to the eyes of others, but that didn't make it any easier.

All twelve of the jurors reacted with horror as they bore witness to the way that Dexter had mutilated my body. They responded to those photos the same way that they'd reacted to the crime scene photos and it was suddenly too much for Albert Dexter. Undoubtedly, he could see the way the tide was turning, and he knew that his life was about to make a change for the worst. It was understandable that he would get upset, but the way that he responded to his anger was very foolish.

"That ain't nothing, you fucking whore!" he screamed, jumping up onto the table in front of him, shrugging off his lawyer, who did his best to stop him. "I'm going to beat this wrap, bitch, and then I'll really carve you up, and then I'll slice up that little whelp in your belly!"

It was then that the bailiff brought him down to the ground by rapping his knees with his idiot stick, flipping him over onto his stomach so that he could cuff him. The judge didn't have to holler for everyone to be quiet, because everyone in the room was silent and I saw that Detective Haskell was barely able to hold John back, but he managed to keep him in his seat. After Baxter was back in his seat, it was Bingley's turn to call forth witnesses, but he didn't bother. Both attorney's offered their closing arguments, the defense's was understandably short.

The jury filed out of the room to deliberate, they came back in after twenty minutes and declared that Albert Dexter was guilty of five counts of first-degree murder, two counts of aggravated rape and a number of other crimes. His sentencing hearing was two weeks later, he received the death penalty, and the verdict and sentencing were the same in Arundel and Tequesta.

Two Years Later

I'm rubbing my belly again, thinking of the little one who'll be born within a month. I'm sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of our home, watching John and Josephine, or as we call her, JoJo, walking hand in hand across the yard. I'm wondering if the little one in my womb will be a son, or will we have another daughter. It doesn't matter either way, just as long as they're healthy and happy.

We sold the bus and the land around it to a bachelor artist who thought that the place was downright magical and bought a place in Jupiter, cattycorner to Mrs. Overmire's home. She's downright tickled with her role as JoJo's Grandma and spoils her rotten…when everyone else in our life is not doing the same thing. I stay at home now and tend to the house and to my little girl, while John was made manager at Tuttle's.

Zach and Jill started dating not long after Flick the Clown was put away. They got married three months later and she's expecting their first child. Robert met a nice woman in Jupiter, a widow, and they're dating, but Mike seems content to be a bachelor and I suspect he always will.

We still entertain the sick children at the hospital as Twisty and Trixie, with their new little friend, Tootsie. I will have to take a break once the new baby arrives, but once he or she is weaned, they will undoubtedly join in the show as well. Life is good, it is blessed, and I don't believe that I'll ever have a reason to be scared again.

Albert Dexter is slated to take a ride on Old Sparky tonight at midnight, but I have no desire to watch him go. I'm content to know that his life will end, and that ours will go on. There was a time when I was sure that he was going to kill me, but here I am, happier than I've ever been before. I miss my loved ones, but I'll see them again, and I can't explain it, but I have a feeling that they're watching me, that they share in my life and that they will continue to do so all the rest of my days.

The End

A/N: For those who are wondering, John and Mae had another little girl, a sister for Josephine Mae Wallace named Maisie Ruth Wallace.


End file.
